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0  tWlLtAAM  C<CULLEN  BRYANT. 


THANATOPSIS,   SELLA,   AND 
OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT 

EDITED  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 
BY 

J.  H.  CASTLEMAN,  A.M.  (INDIANA) 

TEACHER   OF   ENGLISH  AT   THE   McKINLEY   HIGH   SCHOOL 
ST.   LOUIS,   MISSOURI 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON  :  MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  LTD. 
1911 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  January,  1906.     Reprinted 
January,  1909  ;   February,  1911. 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION  :  PAGE 

Biographical  Sketch ix 

Appreciations    .........    xvii 

List  of  Editions  of  Bryant's  Poems xxiv 

List  of  Biographies  and  Criticisms xxv 

EARLIER  POEMS  : 

('Thanatopsis       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  1 

The  Yellow  Violet 4 

*  Inscription  for  the  Entrance  to  a  Wood   .         .         .         .  5  * 

Song —  "  Soon  as  the  glazed  and  gleaming  snow  "   .         .  7 

To  a  Waterfowl 8 

Green  River 9 

A  Winter  Piece 12 

1 '  Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn  "       .....  16 

"  No  Man  knoweth  his  Sepulchre  "  .         .         .        .         .  •  17 

(Hymn  to  Death 19 

/  The  Ages 25 

Ode  for  an  Agricultural  Celebration          ....  39 

The  Rivulet .         .         .41 

March       ..........  44 

Summer  Wind 45 

"  I  broke  the  Spell  that  held  me  Long  "   .        .        .        .47 

Monument  Mountain 49 

Song  of  the  Greek  Amazon       ......  54 


vi  CONTENTS 


To  a  Cloud 

Hymn  to  the  North  Star 

A  Forest  Hymn 59i/ 

"  Oh  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids  " 63 

June 64 

/The  Death  of  the  Flowers 67 

The  African  Chief     .  69 

VA  Meditation  on  Rhode  Island  Coal         ....  72 

The  Journey  of  Life 76 

The  Gladness  of  Nature 76 

The  Conjunction  of  Jupiter  and  Venus     ....  78 

A  Summer  Ramble 81 

A  Scene  on  the  Banks  of  the  Hudson       ....  84 

William  Tell 85 

The  Past 86 

The  Hunter's  Serenade .  88 

To  the  Evening  Wind       ...        .  .        .         .91 

"  Innocent  Child  and  Snow-white  Flower  "      ...  92 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian 93 

The  Twenty-second  of  December 94 

Song  of  Marion's  Men 95 

The  Prairies 98 

The  Hunter  of  the  Prairies 102 

Seventy-six 105 

To  the  Apennines 106 

The  Green  Mountain  Boys        .         .        .  .        .  108 

Catterskill  Falls 110 

The  Battle-field 115 

LATER  POEMS  : 

Sella. 118 

The  Death  of  Schiller  136 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

The  Future  Life 137 

The  Fountain 139 

The  Old  Man's  Counsel 144 

An  Evening  Revery 147  J 

The  Antiquity  of  Freedom 150/ 

A  Hymn  of  the  Sea 152 

The  Crowded  Street 155 

The  White-footed  Deer     .        .        .        .        .        .        .157 

The  Waning  Moon 160 

The  Land  of  Dreams         .        .         .        .        .        .         .162 

The  Planting  of  the  Apple-tree 164 

The  Voice  of  Autumn 167 

^The  Snow-shower 169 

.    Robert  of  Lincoln     . 171 

The  Song  of  the  Sower '    175 

Not  Yet .182 

Our  Country's  Call 184 

The  Little  People  of  the  Snow 187 

NOTES .         .         .201 

INDEX  TO  NOTES .     233 


• 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

Birth  and  Parents.  —  William  Cullen  Bryant  was  born 
at  Cummington,  western  Massachusetts,  on  November  3, 
1794.  His  ancestors  were  Puritans,  both  of  his  parents 
being  descendants  of  Mayflower  passengers,  his  father  of 
Stephen  Bryant  and  his  mother  of  John  Alden,  of  whom 
Longfellow  was  also  a  descendant.  His  father,  Dr.  Peter 
Bryant,  was  a  village  physician,  highly  respected  by  all 
who  knew  him  for  his  integrity  and  intellectual  keenness. 
He  was  a  well-read  man,  versed  in  ancient  and  modern 
languages,  and  passionately  fond  of  music  and  poetry. 
He  also  took  an  active  interest  in  politics,  representing 
Cummington  in  the  state  legislature  for  several  years. 
His  mother  was  a  woman  of  practical  sense  and  great 
force  of  character.  She  was  a  recognized  leader  in  the 
community,  always  ready  to  help  the  unfortunate  or  to 
assist  in  the  advancement  of  neighborhood  interests.  JLo 
them  Bryant  owed  no  small  part  of  his  success.  Not 
only  was  he  inspired  by  them  with  the  deep  love  for  jus- 
tice and  good  reflected  in  both  his  writings  and  his  life, 
but  he  was  also  encouraged  in  his  literary  efforts  from 
childhood.  No  one  else  has  brought  out  this  fact  so 
well  as  the  poet  himself.  In  his  Hymn  to  Death  he  says 
of  his  father :  — 

ix 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

44  It  must  cease, 

For  he  is  in  his  grave  who  taught  my  youth 
The  art  of  verse,  and  in  the  bud  of  life 
Offered  me  to  the  Muses.  .  .  . 

This  faltering  verse  which  thou 
Shalt  not,  as  wont  overlook,  is  all  I  have 
To  offer  at  thy  grave  —  this  —  and  the  hope 
To  copy  thy  example." 


Of  his  mother  he  wrote  :  — 

"Her  prompt  condemnation  of  injustice  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  me  in  early  life,  and  if  in  the  discussion 
of  public  questions  I  have  in  my  riper  age  endeavored  to 
keep  in  view  the  great  rule  of  right,  it  has  been  owing 
in  a  great  degree  to  the  force  of  her  example,  which 
taught  me  never  to  countenance  a  wrong  because  others 
did." 

Boyhood.  —  Bryant's  boyhood  was  spent  at  or  near 
Cummington,  a  village  of  but  a  few  score  of  inhabitants. 
Here  he  attended  school  in  company  with  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  or  wandered  among  the  hills  and  forests  to 
be  met  with  on  every  hand.  He  was  a  precocious  child. 
He  knew  his  letters  before  he  was  a  year  and  a  half  old, 
wrote  a  descriptive  poem  of  considerable  merit  at  nine, 
and  made  creditable  translations  from  the  Latin  poets  at 
ten.  So  promising  was  his  future  that  his  father  early 
decided  to  send  him  to  college.  Accordingly  he  was  pre- 
pared for  Williams,  where  he  matriculated  in  the  fall  of 
1810.  He  remained  there  two  terms,  after  which  he 
withdrew  with  the  expectation  of  entering  Yale.  But 
financial  difficulties  interfered,  and  he  was  forced  to 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  XI 

abandon  his  collegiate  course.  He  next  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  study  of  law.  From  his  early  youth  he  had 
taken  a  keen  interest  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  coun- 
try, and  so  successful  had  he  been  from  time  to  time  in 
voicing  the  sentiments  of  the  people  in  his  verses,  that 
he  now  resolved  upon  a  public  career.  The  profession 
of  the  law,  although  it  did  not  strongly  appeal  to  him, 
seemed  the  quickest  way  to  recognition.  In  December, 
1811,  he  entered  the  law  office  of  Mr.  Howe  of  Worth- 
ington,  a  village  a  few  miles  from  his  home,  where  he 
remained  for  about  two  years.  He  then  went  to  Bridge- 
water  arid  studied  under  Mr.  Baylies,  a  jurist  of  consid- 
erable note,  until  August,  1815,  when  he  was  admitted  to 
the  Massachusetts  bar. 

Lawyer  and  Journalist.  —  Bryant  practised  law  for  nin.e 
years.  After  receiving  his  license,  he  established  him- 
self at  Plainsfield,  a  hamlet  four  or  five  miles  from  Cum- 
min gton,  where  he  remained  but  a  short  time,  going  from 
there -to  Great  Barrington  to  become  the  partner  of  a 
young  lawyer  of  that  place.  He  soon  purchased  his  part- 
ner's interest,  and  in  a  few  months  worked  up  a  fairly 
lucrative  practice.  In  the  summer  of  1819  he  was  made 
one  of  the  tithing-men  of  the  town,  and  soon  afterwards 
town  clerk.  The  Governor  of  the  state  also  appointed 
him  Justice  of  the  Peace. 

But  as  already  intimated,  he  was  not  in  sympathy 
with  his  profession.  Literature  had  early  won  his  heart, 
and  he  longed  to  give  it  his  undivided  attention.  His 
shy,  sensitive  nature,  too,  shrank  from  the  wrangling  of 
the  court  room,  and  as  his  rising  reputation  brought  him 


xii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

increased  practice,  he  grew  more  and  more  dissatisfied. 
Finally,  in  1825,  prompted  by  his  preference  for  things 
literary  and  urged  by  influential  friends,  he  abandoned 
law  to  take  up  literature. 

His  first  experience  in  his  new  profession  was  with 
the  New  York  Review  and  Athenceum  Magazine.  He 
had  gone  to  New  York  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Sedg- 
wick,  an  intimate  friend  who  was  much  interested  in  his 
literary  ability,  and  been  appointed  assistant  editor  of 
that  periodical.  The  publication  proved  to  be  short-lived, 
however,  for  although  well  edited,  it  did  not  attract 
subscribers  enough  to  maintain  it.  After  having  been 
consolidated  with  several  other  magazines  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, it  was  given  up.  But  he  was  not  long  with- 
out employment.  He  was  made  assistant  editor  of  the 
Evening  Post,  and  on  the  death  of  the  editor-in-chief  a 
few  months  later  was  advanced  to  that  position.  Here 
he  remained  throughout  the  remainder  of  his  life,  a 
period  of  more  than  a  half  century.  As  a  journalist  he 
was  broad-minded,  conscientious,  and  fearless.  He  never 
permitted  personal  motives  to  determine  his  attitude 
toward  public  questions,  nor  compromised  with  what  he 
believed  to  be  wrong. 

Poet.  —  Bryant's  chief  ambition  from  childhood  was 
to  be  a  poet.  He  began  to  write  rhymes  at  a  very  early 
age,  and  by  the  time  he  was  ten  produced  a  poem  that 
was  published  in  the  county  paper.  At  the  age  of  thir- 
teen he  wrote  The  Embargo,  a  political  satire,  which  was 
published  in  Boston,  and  which  attracted  a  considerable 
comment  throughout  the  New  England  states.  Then 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xiii 

came  Thanatopsis,  upon  which  much  of  his  fame  as  a  poet 
rests,  written  in  1811.  Other  poems,  including  The  Yel- 
low Violet,  Inscription  for  the  Entrance  to  a  Wood,  To  a 
Waterfowl9  and  Green  River  followed  at  short  intervals. 
In  1821  he  read  TJie  Ages  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society  at  Harvard,  and  that  same  year  published  his 
first  volume  of  verse.  The  next  four  years  were  busy 
ones,  for  in  that  time  he  wrote  thirty  poems  of  which 
Monument  Mountain  and  June  are  the  best  known.  From 
1825  to  1832  he  produced  some  forty  poems,  among  them 
The  Death  of  the  Flowers,  The  Prairies,  and  The  Evening 
Wind;  and  in  the  last  year  of  that  period  published 
a  collected  edition  of  his  works  both  in  America  and 
in  England.  Then  followed  a  period  of  comparative 
inactivity,  his  attention  being  largely  absorbed  in  his 
journalistic  work.  In  1842,  however,  he  published  a  vol- 
ume of  new  verse,  and  two  years  later  added  another. 
New  editions  of  his  poems  appeared  in  1847  and  1854, 
and  another  volume  of  new  verse  in  1864.  His  final 
edition  of  his  poetry  came  out  in  1876. 

Bryant  was  not  a  prolific  writer,,  In  his  literary 
career,  extending  over  seventy  years,  he  gave  to  the 
world  only  one  hundred  and  sixty  poems,  the  average 
length  of  which  is  but  seventy-five  lines.  He  never 
attempted  to  write  a  long  poem,  although  frequently 
urged  to  do  so  by  his  closest  friends,  for,  with  Poe,  he 
believed  it  impossible  to  sustain  the  highest  degree  of 
poetic  excellence  for  any  considerable  time.  Obscurity, 
too,  is  apt  to  find  its  way  into  such  a  production,  and 
there  was  no  other  mistake  that  he  sought  more  to  avoid 


xiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

He  felt  that  no  poem  was  fit  to  leave  his  hand,  if  a  single 
word  or  line  required  study  to  be  understood. 

As  a  poet,  Bryant  ranks  with  Lowell,  Longfellow, 
Whittier,  and  Holmes.  He  has  the  distinction  of  being 
America's  first  great  writer  of  verse,  and,  with  Irving 
and  Cooper,  of  bringing  his  country  into  recognition  in 
the  literary  world.  He  is  distinctively  a  poet  of  nature, 
although  mankind  plays  a  large  part  in  his  productions. 
Like  Wordsworth,  he  turned  to  nature  for  solace  in  times 
of  discouragement,  and  with  him  found  there  a  balm  for 
all  sorrows.  In  LittelVs  Living  Age  for  February,  1864, 
occurs  this  estimate  of  him.  "  It  has  been  the  singular 
felicity  of  Mr.  Bryant  that  he  has  done  whatever  he  has 
done  with  consummate  finish  and  completeness.  If  he 
has  not,  as  the  critics  often  tell  us,  the  comprehensive- 
ness or  philosophic  insight  of  Wordsworth,  the  weird 
fancy  of  Coleridge,  the  gorgeous  diction  of  Keats,  the  ex- 
quisite subtlety  of  Tennyson,  he  is,  nevertheless,  the  one 
among  all  our  contemporaries  who  has  written  the  fewest 
things  carelessly  and  the  most  things  well.  .  .  .  As  a 
poet  of  nature  he  stands  without  a  rival.  No  one  has 
celebrated  her  as  he  has  in  all  her  changeful  aspects  of 
beauty  and  grandeur.  Her  skies,  her  seas,  her  woods,  her 
winds,  her  rains,  her  rivers,  her  snows,  her  flowers,  have 
been  his  perpetual  inspiration.  He  has  made  this  fine 
dwelling  place  of  ours  infinitely  lovelier  to  all  of  us  by 
the  charms  with  which  he  has  vested  its  forms,  and  by 
the  gentle  lessons  which  he  has  taught  us  to  read  in  all 
its  fair  vicissitudes." 

Translator  and  Orator.  —  Bryant's  broad  knowledge  of 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  XV 

languages,  both  classical  and  modern,  led  him  to  trans- 
late selections  from  many  literatures.  Short  poems  from 
Greek,  Spanish,  German,  French,  and  Portuguese  authors 
found  their  way  into  his  works.  But  his  crowning  act  in 
this  field  was  the  rendering  into  English  of  Homer's  Iliad 
and  Odyssey.  In  the  fall  of  1863  he  published  a  transla- 
tion of  the  fifth  book  of  the  Odyssey,  with  extracts  from 
the  Iliad,  which  met  with  so  much  commendation  that  he 
decided  to  translate  the  poems  in  full.  He  turned  his 
attention  first  to  the  Iliad,  which  he  finished  in  1870, 
then  at  once  to  the  Odyssey,  which  he  completed  the  next 
year.  In  speaking  of  this  work,  he  said  that  he  had  en- 
deavored to  be  strictly  faithful  in  his  rendering,  to  add 
nothing  of  his  own,  and  to  give  the  reader,  so  far  as  our 
language  would  allow,  all  that  he  found  in  the  original. 
No  other  translation  of  these  great  classics,  with  the 
exception  of  that  of  Pope,  has  been  more  widely  read. 

Bryant  was  also  a  public  speaker  of  no  mean  ability. 
He  was  especially  effective  in  delivering  orations  upon 
the  lives  and  writings  of  eminent  men.  In  1848  he  deliv- 
ered an  address  before  the  National  Academy  of  Design 
in  commemoration  of  Thomas  Cole,  the  artist,  and  after 
that  was  called  upon  to  give  the  funeral  orations  of  sev- 
eral of  his  prominent  contemporaries.  His  ablest  dis- 
courses were  brought  out  by  the  death  of  Cooper  (1851), 
Irving  (1859),  Halleck  (1868),  and  Verplanck  (1870).  Jle 
was  also  the  chief  orator  at  the  dedication  of  monuments 
erected  in  Central  Park  to  the  memory  of  Shakespeare, 
Morse,  Scott,  and  Mazzini. 

Traveller.  —  Bryant  travelled  extensively,  visiting  many 


xvi  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

countries  in  the  course  of  his  busy  life  in  whose  literature 
and  history  he  was  especially  interested.  In  June,  1834, 
he  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  spent  a  year  and  a  half  in 
travel  and  study  in  France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  return- 
ing to  New  York  in  January,  1836.  Early  in  the  autumn 
of  1845  he  again  went  to  Europe,  going  first  to  Great 
Britain  and  thence  to  the  continent.  While  in  Great 
Britain  he  met  many  men  of  prominence,  and  saw  many 
places  of  interest,  much  attention  being  shown  him.  He 
remained  abroad  but  a  few  months.  In  the  spring  of 
1849  he  visited  Cuba,  and  in  the  summer  of  the  same 
year  crossed  to  Europe  for  the  third  time,  travelling 
through  Great  Britain  and  the  islands  off  its  coasts, 
then  through  France,  Switzerland,  and  Germany,  arriv- 
ing at  home  late  in  December.  Three  years  later  he 
again  sailed  for  Europe,  going  from  there  to  Egypt  and 
the  Holy  Land,  and  reaching  New  York  in  the  summer 
of  1853.  In  1857  he  crossed  the  Atlantic  for  the  fifth 
time,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  this  time  in  the  interest 
of  Mrs.  Bryant's  health,  which  was  slowly  failing.  His 
hopes  for  her  recovery,  however,  were  not  realized,  and 
he  returned  with  her  the  next  year.  Eight  years  later 
he  visited  the  continent  for  the  last  time,  remaining  but 
a  few  weeks.  His  last  journey  of  any  note  was  made  in 
1872,  when  he  travelled  through  Mexico.  While  abroad, 
he  wrote  many  letters  for  his  journal,  which  were  eagerly 
read  by  the  public,  his  wide  acquaintance  with  historic 
places  and  his  keen  observation  making  them  of  special 
value.  In  1850  he  collected  and  published  a  number  of 
them  in  a  volume,  under  the  title  of  Letters  of  a  Traveller, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  XVii 

and  again  in  1869  under  the  title  of  Letters  from  the 
Euxt. 

Death.  —  Bryant's  death  —  the  result  of  a  fall  —  oc- 
curred in  June,  1878.  He  was  entering  the  home  of  his 
friend,  General  James  Wilson,  on  May  29,  after  deliver- 
ing an  address  at  the  unveiling  of  the  statue  to  Mazzini, 
when,  overcome  by  the  heat,  he  fell  upon  the  stone  steps, 
striking  heavily  upon  his  head.  He  recovered  conscious- 
ness at  intervals,  but  gradually  grew  worse.  He  died  on 
the  twelfth  of  his  favorite  month,  June. 

APPRECIATIONS 

The  voices  of  the  hills  did  his  obey  ; 

The  torrents  flashed  and  tumbled  in  his  song ; 
He  brought  our  native  hills  from  far  away, 

Or  set  us  'mid  the  innumerable  throng 
Of  dateless  woods,  or  where  we  heard  the  calm 

Old  homestead's  evening  psalm. 

—  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL,  On  Board  the  '76. 

Bryant's  writings  transport  us  into  the  depths  of  the 
solemn  primeval  forest,  to  the  shores  of  the  lonely  lakes, 
the  banks  of  the  wild  nameless  stream  or  the  brow  of  the 
rocky  upland,  rising  like  a  promontory  from  amidst  a 
wide  ocean  of  foliage,  while  they  shed  around  us  the 
glory  of  a  climate,  fierce  in  its  extremes,  but  splendid  in' 
its  vicissitudes.  —  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  Letter  to  Sam- 
uel Rogers,  1832. 

Bryant,  during  a  long  career  of  authorship,  has  written 
but  'comparatively  little;  but  that  little  is  of  untold 


xviii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

price.  What  exquisite  taste,  what  a  delicate  ear  for  the 
music  of  poetical  language,  what  a  fine  and  piercing 
sense  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  down  to  the  minutest 
and  most  evanescent  things !  He  walks  forth  into  the 
fields  and  forests,  and  not  a  green  or  rosy  tint,  not  a 
flower,  or  herb,  or  tree,  not  a  tiny  leaf  or  gossamer  tissue, 
not  a  strange  or  familiar  plant,  escapes  his  vigilant 
glance.  The  naturalist  is  not  keener  in  searching  out 
the  science  of  nature  than  he  in  detecting  all  its  poetical 
aspects,  effects,  analogies,  and  contrasts.  To  him  the 
landscape  is  a  speaking  and  teaching  page.  He  sees  its 
pregnant  meaning,  and  all  its  hidden  relations  to  the  life 
of  man.  For  him  the  shadow  and  sunshine,  that  chase 
each  other  in  swift  rivalry  over  the  plain,  are  suggestive 
of  deep  meaning  and  touching  comparisons.  For  him 
the  breath  of  evening  and  of  morning  have  an  articulate 
voice.  To  him  the  song  of  birds  is  a  symbol  of  that 
deeper  song  of  joy  and  thankfulness  that  ascends  for- 
ever from  the  heart  of  man  to  the  Giver  of  every  good. 
To  him  the  ocean  utters  its  solemn  hymns,  and  he  can 
well  interpret  them  to  others.  What  a  beautiful  gift  is 
this  !  —  G.  S.  HILLARD,  North  American  Review  for  Octo- 
ber, 18J&. 

The  influence  of  Bryant's  poetry  is  of  a  pure  and 
ennobling  character;  never  ministering  to  false  or  un- 
healthy sensibility,  it  refreshes  the  better  feelings  of  our 
nature,  inspiring  a  tranquil  confidence  in  the  on-goings 
of  the  universe,  with  whose  most  beautiful  manifesta- 
tions we  are  brought  into  such  intimate  communion. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xix 

Its  most  pensive  tones,  which  murmur  such  sweet,  sad 
music,  never  lull  the  soul  in  the  repose  of  despair,  but 
inspire  it  with  a  cheerful  hope  in  the  issues  of  the  future. 
—  Harper's  New  Monthly  Magazine  for  April,  1851. 

The  many  and  high  excellencies  of  Mr.  Bryant  have 
been  almost  universally  recognized.  With  men  of  every 
variety  of  tastes  he  is  a  favorite.  His  works  abound 
with  passages  of  profound  reflection  which  the  philoso- 
pher meditates  in  his  closet,  and  with  others  of  such 
simple  beauty  and  obvious  intention  as  please  the  most 
illiterate.  In  his  pages  are  illustrated  all  the  common 
definitions  of  poetry,  yet  they  are  pervaded  by  a  single 
purpose  and  spirit.  Of  the  essential  but  inferior  charac- 
teristics of  poetry,  which  make  it  an  art,  he  has  a  perfect 
mastery.  Very  few  equal  him  in  grace  and  power  of 
expression.  Every  line  has  compactness,  precision,  and 
elegance,  and  flows  with  its  fellows  in  exquisite  harmony. 
His  manner  is  on  all  occasions  fitly  chosen  for  his  sub- 
ject. His  verse  is  solemn  and  impressive,  or  airy  and 
playful,  as  suits  his  purpose.  His  beautiful  imagery  is 
appropriate,  and  has  that  air  of  freshness  which  distin- 
guishes the  productions  of  an  author  writing  from  his 
own  observations  of  life  and  nature  rather  than  from 
books. 

Mr.  Bryant  is  a  translator  to  the  world  of  the  silent 
language  of  the  universe.  He  "  conforms  his  life  to  the 
beautiful  order  of  God's  works."  In  the  meditation  of 
nature  he  has  learned  high  lessons  of  philosophy  and 
religion.  With  no  other  poet  does  the  subject  spring  so 


XX  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

naturally  from  the  object;  the  moral,  the  sentiment,  from 
the  contemplation  of  the  things  about  him.  There  is 
nothing  forced  in  his  inductions.  By  a  genuine  earnest- 
ness he  wins  the  sympathy  of  his  reader,  and  prepares 
him  to  anticipate  his  thought.  By  an  imperceptible 
influence  he  carries  him  from  the  beginning  to  the  end 
of  a  poem,  and  leaves  him  infused  with  the  very  spirit 
in  which  it  is  conceived. 

In  his  descriptions  of  nature  there  is  a  remarkable 
fidelity.  They  convey  in  an  extraordinary  degree  the 
actual  impression  of  what  is  grand  and  beautiful  and 
peculiar  in  our  scenery.  The  old  and  shadowy  forests 
stand  as  they  grew  up  from  the  seeds  God  planted,  the 
sealike  prairies  stretching  in  airy  undulations  beyond 
the  eye's  extremest  vision ;  our  lakes  and  mountains  and 
rivers  he  brings  before  us  in  pictures  warmly  colored 
with  the  hues  of  the  imagination,  and  as  truthful  as 
those  which  Cole  puts  on  the  canvas.  —  RUFUS  WILMOT 
GRISWOLD,  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  America. 

Mr.  Bryant  has  written  nothing  in  these  poems  that 
can  have  an  impure  or  hurtful  tendency.  Not  a  syllable 
is  here  of  which  virtue  herself  could  complain,  and  noth- 
ing that  tends  to  make  us  laugh  at  or  undervalue  our 
fellow-men ;  but  much  that  tends  to  make  the  soul  strong 
in  opposing  error,  in  bravely  battling  for  truth,  and  in 
patiently  waiting  the  revelation  of  a  brighter  and  a 
better  day  for  our  afflicted  race.  His  thoughts  are  chaste, 
generally  noble,  never  low  or  commonplace,  always  tend- 
ing to  improve  those  who  read.  They  lead  you  to  the 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH  xxi 

pure  air  and  grand  scenery  of  the  mountain  top,  not  so 
much  that  you  may  look  down  upon  the  glorious  sight 
of  the  earth  beneath,  as  that  you  may  be  strengthened 
by  the  healthful  exercise,  and  may  get  a  broader  view  of 
the  illimitable  heaven  and  numberless  stars  above  your 
head.  His  metaphors  and  similes  are  easily  suggested, 
and  actually  illustrate  his  subject  and  deepen  the  im- 
pression on  the  mind,  as  well  as  add  beauty  to  the 
language.  The  verses  and  stanzas  are  so  harmoniously 
constructed  that  all  their  hinges  seem  to  be  golden,  and 
even  the  blank  verse  often  moves  with  as  liquid  a  flow 
as  some  of  Whittier's  fiery  rhymes.  There  is  a  polish 
about  these  poems  that  but  few  Englishmen  have  been 
willing  to  wait  for.  .  .  .  The  words  are  most  admirably 
chosen  to  express  sweetness,  grace,  and  elegance  or 
energy,  patience  and  hopefulness,  —  qualities  for  which 
the  poems  are  especially  distinguished.  They  are  easy 
to  be  understood,  definite  in  sense,  and  used  with  great 
precision;  in  sound  they  are  musical,  and  admirably 
harmonize  with  the  idea.  —  ROBERT  ALLYN?  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review  for  January,  1859. 


As  a  poet  Bryant  stands  first  in  American  literature. 
His  characteristics  are  great  strength  and  sweetness,  a 
noble  simplicity  and  rare  melody  of  versification,  lumi- 
nous clearness  of  expression,  tenderness  without  affecta- 
tion, a  deep  religious  sympathy  with  nature  joined  to  a 
rare  gift  of  insight  and  masterly  felicity  in  interpreting 
its  spirit,  a  profound  sensibility  to  all  affecting  phases 


xxii  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

of  human  experience,  exquisite  taste,  a  powerful  imagi- 
nation, and  a  manly  and  genuine  sincerity.  He  excels 
as  an  artist  in  portraying  features  that  are  most  intensely 
suggestive,  and  in  so  preserving  the  natural  relations  of 
things  described  that  their  vitality  strikes  us  where  we 
are  most  susceptible  and  receptive.  From  all  literary 
trickery  of  every  sort  he  is  utterly  free.  With  his  fervor 
and  energy,  he  has  a  calm  and  majestic  repose.  In  some 
of  his  more  serious  poems  he  shows  a  Miltonic  grandeur, 
yet  with  no  signs  of  effort.  The  accusation  of  poetic 
frigidity  that  was  once  in  fashion  against  him  was  long 
ago  abandoned  as  unjust.  Those  who  feel  deepest,  and 
see  down  where  flow  the  undercurrents  of  life,  know  full 
well  that  there  is  a  divine  heat  in  the  poet's  soul.  But 
it  does  not  produce  bubbles,  or  fog,  or  roil,  or  sputter, 
or  even  glittering  pyrotechnics.  His  has  a  solemn  and 
sweet  dignity  which  is  never  betrayed  into  rant  or  decla- 
mation. Every  line  is  a  jewel.  The  range  of  his  topics 
is  wide,  and,  though  his  original  poems  are  not  volumi- 
nous, yet  he  has  treated  just  those  themes  that  have  the 
deepest  significance  to  us,  —  life  and  death,  home  and 
country,  liberty  and  religion,  —  while  no  poet  has  ever 
given  more  perfect  delineations  of  nature  in  her  varying 
moods. 

His  ethics  are  pure  and  elevating.  In  his  narratives 
of  life,  his  prophecies  of  liberty,  his  pictures  of  human 
disenthrallment  and  progress  and  aspiration,  he  shows 
a  philosophic  insight  and  comprehensiveness,  a  devout 
spirit,  and  a  temper  of  genuine  philanthropy.  The  in- 
spirations of  his  poetry  are,  therefore,  of  the  highest  and 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xxill 

finest  quality.  In  all  he  has  written  there  is  no  line 
appealing  to  a  base  passion,  not  a  suggestion  that  is  in- 
delicate, not  a  sentiment  that  can  be  used  in  the  support 
of  any  evil  or  injustice.  As  pure  as  the  snowflake,  yet 
as  warm  as  the  tropic  wind,  is  the  spirit  out  of  which  is 
born  his  glorious  song.  Those  who  wish  clearest  visions, 
walk  most  reverently  with  nature,  and  who,  in  the  sym- 
pathies of  a  tender  and  strong  humanity,  aspire  most 
sincerely  for  virtue  and  freedom  and  brotherhood,  never 
cease  to  find  strength  and  refreshment  in  his  noble  strains. 
They  come  with  an  invigorating  vitality,  moving,  consol- 
ing, and  replenishing  life  in  its  soundless  depths.  We 
feel  in  "  the  great  miracle  that  goes  on  around  us  "  that 
infinite  love  is  ever  working  and  benignant.  And  so  the 
earth  and  its  companionships  are  more  sacred,  and  our 
existence  becomes  a  more  expressive  note  in  the  high 
harmony  of  the  universe. 

As  a  man,  Bryant  presents  whatever  is  cultivated,  use- 
ful, and  admirable  in  human  character  and  life.  To  his 
splendid  genius  he  joins  the  noblest  virtues.  Whatever 
the  temptation,  he  has  never  abused  his  powers  and  op- 
portunities for  unworthy  ends.  No  one  can  point  out  in 
his  career  an  act  of  injustice,  the  betrayal  of  a  trust,  the 
advocacy  of  a  doctrine  or  support  of  a  candidate  that  his 
own  selfish  interests  might  be  secured.  He  has  devoted 
his  long  and  laborious  life  to  the  highest  culture,  and  to 
a  beneficent  service  that  has  never  swerved  from  its  high 
aim.  What  is  never  to  be  ignored  in  the  estimate  of  the 
man  is  the  truth,  honor,  justice,  philanthropy  —  the  high 
Christian  conscience  —  that  he  has  carried  into  every  field 


xxiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

of  his  endeavor,  and  which  consecrates  his  renown.  He 
has  lived  constant  to  his  ideal.  As  Holmes  says  of 
him  :  — 

How  shall  we  thank  him  that  in  evil  days 
He  faltered  never,  —  nor  for  blame  nor  praise, 
Nor  hire,  nor  party,  shamed  his  earlier  lays  ? 
But  as  his  boyhood  was  of  manliest  hue, 
So  to  his  youth,  his  manly  years  were  true, 
All  dyed  in  rough  purple  through  and  through. 

One  might  say  that  such  a  life  has  been  singularly 
fortunate,  but  the  word  does  not  convey  the  correct  idea 
of  it.  It  is  the  result  of  the  obedience  to  divine  law,  and 
is,  therefore,  a  splendid  example  of  manhood.  Filling,  as 
this  life  does,  such  a  space  in  the  affections  of  men,  so 
grand  in  its  simplicity,  so  rich  in  its  fruitage,  so  manifold 
in  its  utilities,  so  harmonious  in  its  symmetry,  "  like  per- 
fect music  set  to  noble  words,"  Bryant  may  well  have 
to-day  the  reverent  homage  of  a  grateful  generation. 
—  HORATIO  K  POWERS,  Lecture,  November,  1874. 

LIST  OF   EDITIONS   OF   BRYANT'S   POEMS 

The  Embargo,  or  Sketches  of  the  Times,  1808. 

The  Embargo,  the  Spanish  Revolution  and  Other  Poems,  1809. 

Poems,  1821. 

Poems,  1832.     (Also  published  in  England.) 

Poems,  1834. 

Poems,  1836. 

Poems,  1839. 

The  Fountain  and  Other  Poems,  1842. 

The  White-Footed  Deer  and  Other  Poems,  1844. 

Poems,  1847. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  XXV 

Poems,  1854.     (Two  volumes.     Also  published  in  England.) 
Thirty  Poems,  1864. 
Poems.  1871. 

Poetical  Works  of  William  Cullen  Bryant,  1876. 
The  Poetical  Works  of  William   Cullen  Bryant,   1883.     (Two 
volumes.) 

Homer's  Iliad,  1870.     (Translation.) 
Homer's  Odyssey,  1871.     (Translation.) 

LIST   OF   BIOGRAPHIES   AND   CRITICISMS 

William  Cullen  Bryant  (Biographies),  Parke  Godwin;  A.  J. 
Symington  ;  Ray  Palmer  ;  John  Bigelow,  in  the  American  Men  of 
Letters  Series  ;  D.  J.  Hill  in  the  American  Authors  Series. 

William  Cullen  Bryant  (Criticisms),  Bayard  Taylor,  Critical 
Essays  and  Literary  Notes;  Edwin  P.  Whipple,  Literature  and 
Life,  and  Essays  and  Reviews;  James  Grant  Wilson,  Essays: 
Critical  and  Imaginative;  George  William  Curtis,  Literary  and 
Social  Essays  ;  James  Russell  Lowell,  Fable  for  Critics. 


EAELIEE   POEMS 


°THANATOPSIS 

"  Thanatopsis,"  both  in  conception  and  execution,  is  a  noble  example 
of  true  poetical  enthusiasm.  It  alone  would  establish  the  author's  claim 
to  the  honours  of  genius.  —  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH. 

"  Thanatopsis  "  owes  the  extent  of  its  celebrity  to  its  nearly  absolute 
freedom  from  defect,  in  the  ordinary  understanding  of  the  term.  I 
mean  to  say  that  its  negative  merit  recommends  it  to  the  public  atten- 
tion. It  is  a  thoughtful,  well-constructed,  well-versified  poem.  The 
concluding  thought  is  exceedingly  noble. — EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
°Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  °various  language;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides  5 

Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  °sad  images  10 

Of  the  °stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  °narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart ;  — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature;s  teachings,  while  from  all  around  —  15 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
Comes  a  still  voice  —  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
B  1 


2  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  all-beholding  .sun  -shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course;;'  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground. 
Where  thy  pale-  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears,  20 

.  Nor  in  .tike  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  °image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go  25 

To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  °swain 
Turns  with  his  °share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould.         30 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  °patriarchs  of  the  °infant  world  —  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good,  35 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  °seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun,  —  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  °venerable  woods  —  rivers  that  move  40 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  °melancholy  waste,  — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun,  45 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 


THANATOPSIS  3 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 

The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 

That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  —  Take  the  wings  50 

Of  morning,  pierce  the  °Barcan  wilderness, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  Continuous  woods 

Where  rolls  the  °0regon,  and  hears  no  sound, 

Save  his  own  dashfngs  —  yet  the  dead  are  there : 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first  55 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 

In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe  60 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 

His  favorite  °phantom;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come     65 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man  —          70 

Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

f     So  live,  that  when  thy  °summons  comes  to  join 
The  Innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take  7«, 


4  EARLIER  POEMS 

His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 

Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 

By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch  80 

About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


THE  YELLOW  VIOLET 

WHEN  beechen  buds  begin  to  swell, 

And  woods  the  blue-bird's  warble  know, 

The  yellow  violet's  modest  bell 

Peeps  from  the  last  year's  leaves  below. 

Ere  °russet  fields  their  green  resume, 
Sweet  flower,  I  love,  in  forest  bare, 

To  meet  thee,  when  thy  faint  perfume 
Alone  is  in  the  °virgin  air. 

Of  all  her  train,  the  hands  of  Spring 
First  plant  thee  in  the  watery  mould, 

And  I  have  seen  thee  blossoming 
Beside  the  snow-bank's  edges  cold. 

Thy  parent  sun,  who  bade  thee  view 
Pale  skies,  and  chilling  moisture  sip, 

Has  bathed  thee  in  his  own  bright  hue, 
And  streaked  with  jet  thy  glowing  lip. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR   THE  ENTRANCE   TO  A    WOOD       5 

°Yet  slight  thy  form,  and  low  thy  seat, 
And  earthward  bent  thy  gentle  eye, 

Unapt  the  passing  view  to  meet, 

When  loftier  flowers  are  flaunting  nigh.         *- 

Oft,  in  the  sunless  April  day, 

Thy  earlyismile  has  stayed  my  walk, 

But  'midst  the  gorgeous  blooms  of  May; 
I  passed  thee  on  thy  humble  stalk. 

So  they,  who  climb  to  wealth,  forget  25 

The  friends  in  darker  fortunes  tried. 

I  copied  them  —  but  I  regret 

That  I  should  ape  the  ways  of  pride. 

And  when  again  the  genial  hour 

Awakes  the  painted  tribes  of  light,  30 

I'll  not  overlook  the  modest  flower 

That  made  the  woods  of  April  bright. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  THE   ENTRANCE  TO  A 
WOOD 

STRANGER,  if  thou  hast  learned  a  truth  which  needs 
No  school  of  long  experience,  that  the  world 
Is  full  of  guilt  and  misery,  and  hast  seen 
Enough  of  all  its  sorrows,  crimes,  and  cares, 
To  tire  thee  of  it,  enter  this  wild  wood  5 

And  view  the  haunts  of  Nature.     The  calm  shade 


6  EARLIER  POEMS 

Shall  bring  a  kindred  calm,  and  the  sweet  breeze 

That  makes  the  green  leaves  dance,  shall  waft  a  balm 

To  thy  sick  heart.     Thou  wilt  find  nothing  here 

Of  all  that  pained  thee  in  the  haunts  of  men 

And  made  thee  loathe  thy  life/    The  °primal  curse 

Fell,  it  is  true,  upon  the  unsinning  earth, 

But  not  in  vengeance.     God  hath  yoked  to  Guilt 

Her  pale  tormentor,  Misery.     Hence,  these  shades 

Are  still  the  abodes  of  gladness ;   the  thick  roof 

Of  green  and  stirring  branches  is  alive 

And  musical  with  birds,  that  sing  and  sport 

In  °wantonness  of  spirit ;  while  below 

The  squirrel,  with  raised  paws  and  form  erect, 

Chirps  merrily.     Throngs  of  insects  in  the  shade 

Try  their  thin  wings  and  dance  in  the  warm  beam 

That  waked  them  into  life.     Even  the  green  trees 

Partake  the  deep-  contentment ;  as  they  bend 

To  the  soft  winds,  the  sun  from  the  blue  sky 

Looks  in  and  sheds  a  blessing  on  the  scene. 

Scarce  less  the  cleft-born  wild-flower  seems  to  enjoy 

Existence,  than  the  winged  plunderer 

That  sucks  its  sweets.     The  massy  rocks  themselves, 

And  the  old  and  ponderous  trunks  of  prostrate  trees 

That  lead  from  knoll  to  knoll  a  °causey  rude 

Or  bridge  the  sunken  brook,  and  their  dark  roots, 

With  all  their  earth  upon  them,  twisting  high, 

Breathe  °fixed  tranquillity.     The  rivulet 

Sends  forth  glad  sounds,  and  °tripping  o'er  its  bed 

Of  pebbly  sands,  or  leaping  down  the  rocks, 

Seems,  with  continuous  laughter,  to  rejoice 


SONG 

In  its  own  being.     Softly  tread  the  marge, 
Lest  from  her  midway  perch  thou  scare  the  wren 
That  dips  her  bill  in  water.     The  cool  wind, 
That  stirs  the  stream  in  play,  shall  come  to  thee, 
Like  one  that  loves  thee  nor  will  let  thee  pass 
Ungreeted,  and  shall  give  it  slight  embrace. 


SONG 

SOON  as  the  glazed  and  gleaming  snow 
Reflects  the  day-dawn  cold  and  clear, 

The  hunter  of  the  west  must  go 
In  depth  of  woods  to  seek  the  deer. 

His  rifle  on  his  shoulder  placed,  5 

His  stores  of  death  arranged  with  skill, 

His  moccasins  and  snow-shoes  laced,  — 
Why  lingers  he  beside  the  hill  ? 

Far,  in  the  dim  and  doubtful  light, 

Where  woody  slopes  a  valley  leave,  10 

He  sees  what  none  but  lover  might, 

The  dwelling  of  his  Genevieve. 

And  oft  he  turns  his  truant  eye, 

And  pauses  oft,  and  lingers  near; 
But  when  he  marks  the  reddening  sky,  15 

He  bounds  away  to  hunt  the  deer. 


EARLIER  POEMS 


°TO  A  WATERFOWL 

The  soft  and  exquisite  beauty  of  the  lines  entitled  "  To  a  Waterfowl" 
is  appreciated  by  every  reader  of  taste.  They  belong  to  that  rare  class 
of  poems  which,  once  read,  haunt  the  imagination  with  a  perpetual 
charm.  — Harper's  New  Monthly  Magazine  for  April,  1851. 

WHITHER,  midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  °last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 

Thy  solitary  way  ? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye  5 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
°As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  °plashy  brink 

Of  weedy  lake,  or  °marge  of  river  wide,  10 

Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean  side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast,  — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air,  -  15 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near.  20 


GREEN  RIVER  9 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend, 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou'rt  gone,  the  °abyss  of  heaven  25 

Hath  swallowed  Aip  thy  form;  yet,  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight,     30 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


GREEN  RIVER 

WHEN  breezes  are  soft  and  skies  are  fair, 
I  steal  an  hour  from  study  and  care, 
And  °hie  me  away  to  the  woodland  scene, 
Where  wanders  the  stream  with  waters  of  green ; 
As  if  the  bright  fringe  of  herbs  on  its  brink, 
Had  given  their  stain  to  the  wave  they  drink; 
And  they,  whose  meadows  it  murmurs  through, 
Have  named  the  stream  from  its  own  fair  hue. 

Yet  pure  its  waters  —  its  shallows  are  bright 
With  colored  pebbles  and  sparkles  of  light, 


10  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  clear  the  depths  where  its  eddies  play, 

And  dimples  deepen  and  whirl  away, 

And  the  °plane-tree;s  speckled  arms  o'ershoot 

The  swifter  current  that  mines  its  root, 

Through  whose  shifting  leaves,  as  you  walk  the  hill,     15 

The  quivering  glimmer  of  sun  and  rill, 

With  a  sudden  flash  on  the  eye  is  thrown, 

Like  the  ray  that  streams  from  the  diamond  stone. 

Oh,  loveliest  there  the  spring  days  come, 

With  blossoms,  and  birds,  and  wild  bees'  hum;  20 

The  flowers  of  summer  are  fairest  there, 

And  freshest  the  breath  of  the  summer  air; 

And  sweetest  the  golden  autumn  day 

In  silence  and  sunshine  glides  away. 

Yet  fair  as  thou  art,  thou  shun'st  to  glide,  25 

Beautiful  stream !  by  the  village  side ; 
But  windest  away  from  haunts  of  men, 
To  quiet  valley  and  shaded  glen; 
And  forest,  and  meadow,  and  slope  of  hill, 
Around  thee,  are  lonely,  lovely,  and  still.  30 

Lonely  —  save  when,  by  thy  rippling  tides, 
From  thicket  to  thicket  the  angler  glides ; 
Or  the  °simpler  comes  with  basket  and  book, 
For  herbs  of  power  on  thy  banks  to  look; 
Or  haply,  some  idle  dreamer,  like  me,  35 

To  wander,  and  muse,  and  gaze  on  thee. 
Still  —  save  the  chirp  of  birds  that  feed 
On  the  °river-cherry  and  seedy  reed, 
And  thy  own  wild  music  gushing  out 


GREEN  RIVER  11 

With  mellow  murmur  and  fairy  shout,  40 

From  dawn  to  the  blush  of  another  day, 
Like  traveller  singing  along  his  way. 

That  fairy  music  I  never  hear, 
Nor  gaze  on  those  waters  so  green  and  clear, 
And  mark  them  winding  away  from  sight,  45 

Darkened  with  shade  or  flashing  with  light, 
While  o'er  them  the  vine  to  its  thicket  clings, 
And  the  zephyr  stoops  to  freshen  his  wings, 
But  I  wish  that  fate  had  left  me  free 
To  wander  these  quiet  haunts  with  thee,  50 

Till  the  eating  cares  of  earth  should  depart, 
And  the  peace  of  the  scene  pass  into  my  heart ; 
But  I  envy  thy  stream,  as  it  glides  along, 
Through  its  beautiful  banks  in  a  trance  of  song. 

°Though  forced  to  drudge  for  the  dregs  of  men,         55 
And  scrawl  strange  words  with  the  barbarous  pen, 
And  mingle  among  the  jostling  crowd, 
Where  the  sons  of  strife  are  subtle  and  loud  — 
I  often  come  to  this  quiet  place, 

To  breathe  the  airs  that  ruffle  thy  face,  60 

And  gaze  upon  thee  in  silent  dream, 
For  in  thy  lonely  and  lovely  stream, 
An  image  of  that  calm  life  appears, 
That  won  my  heart  in  my  greener  years. 


12  EARLIER  POEMS 


°A  WINTER  PIECE 

THE  time  has  been  that  these  wild  solitudes, 
Yet  beautiful  as  wild,  were  trod  by  me 
Oftener  than  now;   and  when  the  ills  of  life 
Had  chafed  my  spirit  —  when  the  unsteady  pulse 
Beat  with  strange  flutterings  —  I  would  wander  forth    5 
And  seek  the  woods.     The  sunshine  on  my  path 
Was  to  me  as  a  friend.     The  swelling  hills, 
The  quiet  dells  retiring  far  between, 
With  gentle  invitation  to  explore 

Their  windings,  were  a  calm  society  10 

That  talked  with  me  and  soothed  me.     Then  the  chant 
Of  birds,  and  chime  of  brooks,  and  soft  caress 
Of  the  fresh  sylvan  air,  made  me  forget 
The  thoughts  that  broke  my  peace,  and  I  began 
To  gather  °simples  by  the  fountain's  brink,  15 

And  lose  myself  in  day-dreams.     While  I  stood 
In  nature's  loneliness,  I  was  with  one 
With  whom  I  early  grew  familiar,  one 
Who  never  had  a  frown  for  me,  whose  voice 
Never  rebuked  me  for  the  hours  I  stole  20 

From  cares  I  loved  not,  but  of  which  the  world 
Deems  highest,  to  converse  with  her.     When  shrieked 
The  bleak  November  winds,  and  smote  the  woods, 


A    WINTER  PIECE  13 

And  the  brown  fields  were  herbless,  and  the  shades. 
That  met  above  the  merry  rivulet,  25 

Were  spoiled,  I  sought,  I  loved  them  still,  —  they 

seemed 

Like  old  companions  in  adversity. 
Still  there  was  beauty  in  my  walks ;   the  brook, 
Bordered  with  sparkling  frost-work,  was  as  gay 
As  with  its  fringe  of  summer  flowers.     Afar,  30 

The  village  with  its  spires,  the  path  of  streams, 
And  dim  receding  valleys,  hid  before 
By  °interposing  trees,  lay  visible 
Through  the  bare  grove,  and  my  familiar  haunts 
Seemed  new  to  me.     Nor  was  I  slow  to  come  35 

Among  them,  when  the  clouds,  from  their  still  skirts, 
Had  shaken  down  on  earth  the  feathery  snow, 
And  all  was  white.     The  pure  keen  air  abroad, 
Albeit  it  breathed  no  scent  of  herb,  nor  heard 
Love-call  of  bird  nor  merry  hum  of  bee,  40 

Was  not  the  air  of  death.     Bright  mosses  crept 
Over  the  spotted  trunks,  and  the  close  buds, 
That  lay  along  the  boughs,  instinct  with  life, 
Patient,  and  waiting  the  soft  breath  of  Spring, 
Feared  not  the  piercing  spirit  of  the  North.  45 

The  snow-bird  twittered  on  the  beechen  bough, 
And  'neath  the  hemlock,  whose  thick  branches  bent 
Beneath  its  bright  cold  burden,  and  kept  dry. 
A  circle,  on  the  earth,  of  withered  leaves, 
The  partridge  found  a  shelter.     Through  the  snow        50 
The  rabbit  sprang  away.     The  lighter  track 
Of  fox;  and  the  raccoon's  broad  path,  were  there, 


14  EARLIER  POEMS 

Crossing  each  other.     From  his  hollow  tree, 

The  squirrel  was  abroad,  gathering  the  nuts 

Just  fallen,  that  asked  the  winter  cold  and  sway  55 

Of  winter  blast,  to  shake  them  from  their  hold. 

But  Winter  has  yet  brighter  scenes,  —  he  boasts 
Splendors  beyond  what  gorgeous  Summer  knows : 
Or  Autumn  with  his  many  fruits,  and  woods 
All  flushed  with  many  hues.     Come  when  the  rains       60 
Have  glazed  the  snow,  and  clothed  the  trees  with  ice ; 
While  the  slant  sun  of  February  pours 
Into  the  bowers  a  flood  of  light.     Approach ! 
The  incrusted  surface  shall  upbear  thy  steps, 
And  the  broad  arching  portals  of  the  grove  65 

Welcome  thy  entering.     Look  !  the  massy  trunks 
Are  cased  in  the  pure  crystal ;  each  light  spray, 
Nodding  and  tinkling  in  the  breath  of  heaven, 
Is  studded  with  its  trembling  water-drops, 
That  stream  with  rainbow  radiance  as  they  move.         70 
But  round  the  parent  stem  the  long  low  boughs 
Bend,  in  a  glittering  ring,  and  arbors  hide 
The  glassy  floor.     Oh !  you  might  deem  the  spot 
The  spacious  cavern  of  some  °virgin  mine, 
Deep  in  the  womb  of  earth  —  where  the  gems  grow,     75 
And  diamonds  put  forth  radiant  rods  and  bud 
With  amethyst  and  topaz  —  and  the  place 
Lit  up,  most  royally,  with  the  pure  beam 
That  dwells  in  them.     Or  haply  the  vast  hall 
Of  fairy  palace,  that  outlasts  the  night,  80 

And  fades  not  in  the  glory  of  the  sun;  — 


A    WINTER  PIECE  15 

Where  crystal  columns  send  forth  slender  shafts 

And  crossing  arches;  and  fantastic  aisles 

Wind  from  the  sight  in  brightness,  and  are  lost 

Among  the  crowded  pillars.     Raise  thine  eyes,  —         85 

Thou  seest  no  cavern  roof,  no  palace  vault ; 

There  the  blue  sky  and  the  white  drifting  cloud 

Look  in.     Again  the  °wildered  fancy  dreams 

Of  spouting  fountains,  frozen  as  they  rose, 

And  fixed,  with  all  their  branching  jets,  in  air,  90 

And  all  their  °sluices  sealed.     All,  all  is  light; 

Light  without  shade,,     But  all  shall  pass  away 

With  the  next  sun.     From  numberless  vast  trunks, 

Loosened,  the  crashing  ice  shall  make  a  sound 

Like  the  far  roar  of  rivers,  and  the  eve  95 

Shall  close  o'er  the  brown  woods  as  it  was  wont. 

And  it  is  pleasant,  when  the  noisy  streams 
Are  just  set  free,  and  milder  suns  melt  off 
The  plashy  snow,  save  only  the  firm  drift 
In  the  deep  glen  or  the  close  shade  of  pines,  —  100 

'Tis  pleasant  to  behold  the  wreaths  of  smoke 
Roll  up  among  the  maples  of  the  hill, 
Where  the  shrill  sound  of  youthful  voices  wakes 
The  shriller  echo,  as  the  clear  pure  °lymph, 
That  from  the  wounded  trees,  in  twinkling  drops,        105 
Falls,  mid  the  golden  brightness  of  the  morn, 
Is  gathered  in  with  brimming  pails,  and  oft, 
Wielded  by  sturdy  hands,  the  stroke  of  axe 
Makes  the  woods  ring.     Along  the  quiet  air, 
Come  and  float  calmly  off  the  soft  light  clouds,  no 


16  EARLIER  POEMS 

Such  as  you  see  in  summer,  and  the  winds 

Scarce  stir  the  branches.     Lodged  in  sunny  cleft, 

Where  the  cold  breezes  come  not,  blooms  alone 

The  little  °wind-flower,  whose  just  opened  eye 

Is  blue  as  the  spring  heaven  it  gazes  at  —  115 

Startling  the  loiterer  in  the  naked  groves 

With  unexpected  beauty,  for  the  time 

Of  blossoms  and  green  leaves  is  yet  afar. 

And  ere  it  comes,  the  encountering  winds  shall  oft 

Muster  their  wrath  again,  and  rapid  clouds  120 

Shade  heaven,  and  bounding  on  the  frozen  earth 

Shall  fall  their  volleyed  stores  rounded  like  hail, 

And  white  like  snow,  and  the  loud  North  again 

Shall  buffet  the  vexed  forest  in  his  rage. 


'"BLESSED  ARE  THEY  THAT  MOURN" 

OH,  °deem  not  they  are  blest  alone 
Whose  lives  a  peaceful  °tenor  keep; 

The  Power  who  pities  man,  has  shown 
A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 


The  light  of  smiles  shall  fill  again 
The  lids  that  overflow  with  tears; 

And  weary  hours  of  woe  and  pain 
Are  promises  of  happier  years. 


"NO  MAN  KNOWETH  HIS  SEPULCHRE"  17 

There  is  a  day  of  sunny  rest 

For  every  dark  and  troubled  night;  10 

And  grief  may  bide,  an  evening  guest, 

But  joy  shall  come  with  early  light. 

And  thou,  who,  o'er  thy  friend's  low  °bier 
Sheddest  the  bitter  drops  like  rain, 

Hope  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere,  15 

Will  give  him  to  thy  arms  again. 

Nor  let  the  good  man's  trust  depart, 
Though  life  its  common  gifts  deny, 

Though  with  a  pierced  and  broken  heart, 

And  spurned  of  men,  he  goes  to  die.  20 

For  God  has  marked  each  sorrowing  day, 

And  numbered  every  secret  tear, 
And  heaven's  long  age  of  bliss  shall  pay 

For  all  his  children  surfer  here. 


'NO  MAN  KNOWETH  HIS  SEPULCHRE" 

WHEN  he,  who,  from  the  scourge  of  wrong, 
Aroused  the  Hebrew  tribes  to  fly, 

Saw  the  fair  region,  promised  long, 
And  bowed  him  on  the  hills  to  die; 


18  EARLIER  POEMS 

God  made  his  grave,  to  men  unknown,  5 

Where  °Moab's  rocks  a  vale  infold, 

And  laid  the  aged  seer  alone 

To  slumber  while  the  world  grows  old. 

Thus  still,  whene'er  the  good  and  just 

Close  the  dim  eye  on  life  and  pain,  10 

Heaven  watches  o'er  their  sleeping  dust, 
Till  the  pure  spirit  comes  again. 

Though  nameless,  trampled,  and  forgot, 

His  servant's  humble  ashes  lie, 
Yet  God  has  marked  and  sealed  the  spot,  15 

To  call  its  inmate  to  the  sky. 


HYMN  TO  DEATH  19 


HYMN  TO  DEATH 

OH  !  could  I  hope  the  wise  and  pure  in  heart 

Might  hear  my  song  without  a  frown,  nor  deem 

My  voice  unworthy  of  the  theme  it  tries,  — 

I  would  take  up  the  hymn  to  Death,  and  say 

To  the  grim  power,  The  world  hath  slandered  thee         5 

And  mocked  thee.     On  thy  dim  and  shadowy  brow 

They  place  an  iron  crown,  and  call  thee  king 

Of  terrors,  and  the  spoiler  of  the  world, 

Deadly  assassin,  that  strik'st  down  the  fair, 

The  loved,  the  good  —  that  breathest  on  the  lights       10 

Of  virtue  set  along  the  vale  of  life, 

And  they  go  out  in  darkness.     I  am  come, 

Not  with  reproaches,  not  with  cries  and  prayers, 

Such  as  have  stormed  thy  stern,  insensible  ear 

From  the  beginning.     I  am  come  to  speak  15 

Thy  praises.     °True  it  is,  that  I  have  wept 

Thy  conquests,  and  may  weep  them  yet  again : 

And  thou  from  some  I  love  wilt  take  a  life 

Dear  to  me  as  my  own.     Yet  while  the  spell 

Is  on  my  spirit,  and  I  talk  with  thee  20 

In  sight  of  all  thy  trophies,  face  to  face, 

Meet  is  it  that  my  voice  should  utter  forth 

Thy  nobler  triumph;  I  will  teach  the  world 


20  EARLIER  POEMS 

To  thank  thee.  —  Who  are  thine  accusers  ?  —  Who  ? 
The  living  !  —  they  who  never  felt  thy  power,  25 

And  know  thee  not.     The  curses  of  the  wretch 
Whose  crimes  are  °ripe,  his  sufferings  when  thy  hand 
Is  on  him,  and  the  hour  he  dreads  is  come, 
Are  writ  among  thy  praises.     But  the  good  — 
Does  he  whom  thy  kind  hand  dismissed  to  peace,          30 
Upbraid  the  gentle  violence  that  took  off 
His  fetters,  and  unbarred  his  prison  cell  ? 

Raise  then  the  hymn  to  Death.     Deliverer ! 
God  hath  anointed  thee  to  free  the  oppressed 
And  crush  the  oppressor.     When  the  armed  chief,         35 
The  Conqueror  of  nations,  walks  the  world, 
And  it  is  changed  beneath  his  feet,  and  all 
Its  kingdoms  melt  into  one  mighty  realm  — 
Thou,  while  his  head  is  loftiest  and  his  heart 
Blasphemes,  imagining  his  own  right  hand  40 

Almighty,  thou  dost  set  thy  sudden  grasp 
Upon  him,  and  the  links  of  that  strong  chain 
That  bound  mankind  are  crumbled ;  thou  dost  break 
Sceptre  and  crown,  and  beat  his  throne  to  dust. 
Then  the  earth  shouts  with  gladness,  and  her  tribes      45 
Gather  within  their  ancient  bounds  again. 
Else  had  the  mighty  of  the  olden  time, 
°Nimrod,  °Sesostris,  or  °the  youth  who,  feigned 
His  birth  from  Libyan  Ammon,  smitten  yet 
The  nations  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  driven  50 

Their  chariot  o'er  our  necks.     Thou  dost  avenge, 
In  thy  good  time,  the  wrongs  of  those  who  know 


HYMN   TO  DEATH  21 

No  other  friend.     Nor  dost  thou  interpose 

Only  to  lay  the  sufferer  asleep, 

Where  he  who  made  him  wretched  troubles  not  55 

His  rest  —  thou  dost  strike  down  his  tyrant  too. 

Oh,  there  is  joy  when  h'ands  that  held  the  scourge 

Drop  lifeless,  and  the  pitiless  heart  is  cold. 

Thou  too  dost  purge  from  earth  its  horrible 

And  old  idolatries ;  —  from  the  proud  °f anes  60 

Each  to  his  grave  their  priests  go  out,  till  none 

Is  left  to  teach  their  worship ;  then  the  fires 

Of  sacrifice  are  chilled,  and  the  green  moss 

O'ercreeps  their  altars;  the  fallen  images 

Cumber  the  weedy  courts,  and  for  loud  hymns,  65 

Chanted  by  kneeling  multitudes,  the  wind 

Shrieks  in  the  solitary  aisles.     When  he 

Who  gives  his  life  to  guilt,  and  laughs  at  all 

The  laws  that  God  or  man  has  made,  and  round 

Hedges  his  seat  with  power,  and  shines  in  wealth,  —    70 

Lifts  up  his  atheist  front  to  scoff  at  Heaven, 

And  celebrates  his  shame  in  open  day, 

Thou,  in  the  pride  of  ail  his  crimes,  cutt'st  off 

The  horrible  example.     Touched  by  thine, 

The  °extortioner's  hard  hand  foregoes  the  gold  75 

Wrung  from  the  o'er-worn  poor.     The  °perjurer, 

Whose  tongue  was  °lithe,  e'en  now,  and  °voluble 

Against  his  neighbor's  life,  and  he  who  laughed 

And  leaped  for  joy  to  see  a  spotless  fame 

Blasted  before  his  own  foul  °calumnies,  80 

Are  smit  with  deadly  silence.     He,  who  sold 

His  conscience  to  preserve  a  worthless  life, 


22  EARLIER  POEMS 

Even  while  he  hugs  himself  on  his  escape, 

Trembles,  as,  doubly  terrible,  at  length, 

Thy  steps  overtake  him,  and  there  is  no  time  85 

For  parley  —  nor  will  bribes  unclench  thy  grasp. 

Oft,  too,  dost  thou  reform  thy  victim,  long 

Ere  his  last  hour.     And  when  the  reveller, 

Mad  in  the  chase  of  pleasure,  stretches  on, 

And  strains  each  nerve,  and  clears  the  path  of  life        90 

Like  wind,  thou  point'st  him  to  the  dreadful  goal, 

And  shak'st  thy  hour-glass  in  his  reeling  eye, 

And  check'st  him  in  mid  course.     Thy  skeleton  hand 

Shows  to  the  faint  of  spirit  the  right  path, 

And  he  is  warned,  and  fears  to  step  aside.  95 

Thou  sett'st  between  the  ruffian  and  his  crime 

Thy  ghastly  countenance,  and  his  slack  hand 

Drops  the  drawn  knife. '  But,  oh,  most  fearfully 

Dost  thou  show  forth  Heaven's  justice,  when  thy  shafts 

Drink  up  the  ebbing  spirit  —  then  the  hard  100 

Of  heart  and  violent  of  hand  restores 

The  treasure  to  the  friendless  wretch  he  wronged. 

Then  from  the  writhing  bosom  thou  dost  pluck 

The  guilty  secret;  lips,  for  ages  sealed, 

Are  faithless  to  the  dreadful  trust  at  length,  105 

And  give  it  up;  the  °felon's  latest  breath 

Absolves  the  innocent  man  who  bears  his  crime; 

The  slanderer,  horror-smitten,  and  in  tears, 

Recalls  the  deadly  °obloquy  he  forged 

To  work  his  brother's  ruin.     Thou  dost  make  no 

Thy  penitent  victim  utter  to  the  air 

The  dark  conspiracy  that  strikes  at  life, 


HYMN  TO  DEATH  23 

And  aims  to  °whelm  the  laws ;  ere  yet  the  hour 
Is  come,  and  the  dread  sign  of  murder  given. 

Thus,  from  the  first  of  time,  hast  thou  been  found   115 
On  virtue's  side ;  the  wicked,  but  for  thee, 
Had  been  too  strong  for  the  good ;  the  great  of  earth 
Had  crushed  the  weak  for  ever.     Schooled  in  guile 
For  ages,  while  each  passing  year  had  brought 
Its  baneful  lesson,  they  had  filled  the  world  120 

With  their  abominations ;  while  its  tribes, 
Trodden  to  earth,  imbruted,  and  despoiled, 
Had  knelt  to  them  in  worship ;  sacrifice 
Had  smoked  on  many  an  altar,  temple  roofs 
Had  echoed  with  the  blasphemous  prayer  and  hymn:  125 
But  thou,  the  great  reformer  of  the  world, 
Tak'st  off  the  sons  of  violence  and  fraud 
In  their  °green  pupilage,  their  lore  half  learned  — 
Ere  guilt  had  quite  overrun  the  simple  heart 
God  gave  them  at  their  birth,  ano\  blotted  out  130 

His  image.     Thou  dost  mark  them  flushed  with  hope, 
As  on  the  threshold  of  their  vast  designs 
Doubtful  and  loose  they  stand,  and  strik'st  them  down. 


Alas !  I  little  thought  that  the  stern  power 
Whose  fearful  praise  I  sung,  would  try  me  thus  135 

Before  the  strain  was  ended.     It  must  cease  — 
For  °he  is  in  his  grave  who  taught  my  youth 
The  art  of  verse,  and  in  the  bud  of  life 
Offered  me  to  the  muses.     Oh,  cut  off 


24  EARLIER  POEMS 

°Untimely  !  when  thy  reason  in  its  strength,  140 

Ripened  by  years  of  toil  and  studious  search, 

And  watch  of  Nature's  silent  lessons,  taught 

Thy  hand  to  practise  best  the  lenient  art 

To  which  thou  gavest  thy  laborious  days, 

And,  last,  thy  life.     And,  therefore,  when  the  earth     145 

Received  thee,  tears  were  in  unyielding  eyes 

And  on  hard  cheeks,  and  they  who  °deemed  °thy  skill 

Delayed  their  death-hour,  shuddered  and  turned  pale 

When  thou  wert  gone.     This  faltering  verse,  which  thou 

Shalt  not,  as  wont,  overlook,  is  all  I  have  150 

To  offer  at  thy  grave  —  this  —  and  the  hope 

To  copy  thy  example,  and  to  leave 

A  name  of  which  the  wretched  shall  not  think 

As  of  an  enemy's,  whom  they  forgive 

As  all  forgive  the  dead.     Rest,  therefore,  thou  155 

Whose  early  guidance  trained  my  infant  steps  — 

Rest,  in  the  bosom  of  God,  till  the  brief  sleep 

Of  death  is  over,  and  a  happier  life 

Shall  dawn  to  waken  thine  insensible  dust. 

Now  thou  art  not  —  and  yet  the  men  whose  guilt    160 
Has  wearied  Heaven  for  vengeance  —  he  who  bears 
False  witness  —  he  who  takes  the  orphan's  bread, 
And  robs  the  widow  —  he  who  spreads  abroad 
Polluted  hands  of  mockery  of  prayer, 
Are  left  to  cumber  earth.     Shuddering  I  look  165 

On  what  is  written,  yet  I  blot  not  out 
The  °desultory  numbers  —  let  them  stand, 
The  record  of  an  idle  revery. 


THE  AGES  25 


°THE  AGES 

In  this  poem,  written  and  first  printed  in  the  year  1821,  the  author 
has  endeavored,  frjwmr  survey  of  the  past  ages  of  the  world,  and  of  the 
successive  advances  of  mankind  in  knowledge,  virtue,  and  happiness, 
to  justify  and  confirm  the  hopes  of  the  philanthropist  for  the  future 
destinies  of  the  human  race.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


WHEN  to  the  common  rest  that  crowns  our  days, 
Called  in  the  noon  of  life,  the  good  man  goes, 
Or  full  of  years,  and  ripe  in  wisdom,  lays 
His  silver  temples  in  their  last  repose; 
When,  o'er  the  buds  of  youth,  the  death-wind  blows,  5 
And  blights  the  fairest;  when  our  bitter  tears 
Stream,  as  the  eyes  of  those  that  love  us  close, 
We  think  on  what  they  were,  with  many  fears 
Lest  goodness  die  with  them,  and  leave  the  coming  years. 

ii 

And  therefore,  to  our  hearts,  the  days  gone  by,  -      10 
When  lived  the  honored  sage  whose  death  we  wept, 
And  the  soft  virtues  beamed  from  many  an  eye, 
And  beat  in  many  a  heart  that  long  has  slept,  — 
Like  spots  of  earth  where  angel-feet  have  stepped  — 
Are  holy ;  and  high-dreaming  bards  have  told  15 


26  EARLIER  POEMS 

Of  times  when  worth  was  crowned,  and  faith  was 

kept, 

Ere  friendship  grew  a  snare,  or  love  waxed  cold  — 
Those  pure  and  happy  times  —  the  golden  days  of  old. 


in 

Peace  to  the  just  man's  memory,  —  let  it  grow 
Greener  with  years,  and  blossom  through  the  flight  20 
Of  ages;  let  the  °mimic  canvas  show 
His  calm  benevolent  features ;  let  the  light 
Stream  on  his  deeds  of  love,  that  shunned  the  sight 
Of  all  but  heaven,  and  in  the  book  of  fame, 
The  glorious  record  of  his  virtues  write,  25 

And  hold  it  up  to  men,  and  bid  them  claim 
°A  palm  like  his,  and  catch  from  him  the  hallowed  flame. 


IV 

But  oh,  despair  not  of  their  fate  who  rise 
To  dwell  upon  the  earth  when  we  withdraw ! 
Lo  !  the  same  shaft  by  which  the  righteous  dies,       30 
Strikes  through  the  wretch  that  scoffed  at  mercy's  law, 
And  trode  his  brethren  down,  and  felt  no  awe 
Of  Him  who  will  avenge  them.     Stainless  worth, 
Such  as  the  sternest  age  of  virtue  saw, 
Ripens,  meanwhile,  till  time  shall  call  it  forth  35 

From  the  low  modest  shade,  to  light  and  bless  the  earth. 


THE  AGES  27 


Has  Nature,  in  her  cairn,  majestic  march 
Faltered  with  age  at  last  ?  does  the  bright  sun 
Grow  dim  in  heaven  ?  or,  in  their  far  blue  arch, 
Sparkle  the  crowd  of  stars,  when  day  is  done,  40 

Less  brightly  ?  when  the  dew-lipped  Spring  comes  on, 
Breathes  she  with  airs  less  soft,  or  scents  the  sky 
With  flowers  less  fair  than  when  her  reign  begun  ? 
Does  °prodigal  Autumn,  to  our  age,  deny 
The  plenty  that  once  swelled  beneath  his  sober  eye  ?      45 


VI 

Look  on  this  beautiful  world,  and  read  the  truth 
In  her  fair  page ;  see,  every  season  brings 
New  change,  to  her,  of  everlasting  youth; 
Still  the  green  soil,  with  joyous  living  things, 
Swarms,  the  wide  air  is  full  of  joyous  wings,  50 

And  myriads,  still,  are  happy  in  the  sleep 
Of  ocean's  azure  gulfs,  and  where  he  flings 
The  restless  surge.     Eternal  Love  doth  keep 
In  his  complacent  arms,  the  earth,  the  air,  the  deep. 

VII 

Will  then  the  merciful  One,  who  stamped  our  race      55 
With  his  own  image,  and  who  gave  them  sway 
O'er  earth,  and  the  glad  dwellers  on  her  face, 
Now  that  our  swarming  nations  far  away 


28  EARLIER  POEMS 

Are  spread,  where'er  the  moist  earth  drinks  the  day, 
Forget  the  ancient  care  that  taught  and  nursed         60 
His  latest  offspring  ?  will  he  quench  the  ray 
Infused  by  his  own  forming  smile  at  first, 
And  leave  a  work  so  fair  all  blighted  and  accursed? 

VIII 

Oh,  no  !  a  thousand  cheerful  omens  give 
Hope  of  yet  happier  days,  whose  dawn  is  nigh.          65 
He  who  has  tamed  the  elements,  shall  not  live 
The  slave  of  his  own  passions ;  he  whose  eye 
°Unwinds  the  eternal  dances  of  the  sky, 
And  in  the  abyss  of  brightness  dares  to  span 
The  sun's  broad  circle,  rising  yet  more  high,  70 

In  God's  magnificent  works  his  will  shall  scan  — 
And  love  and  peace  shall  make  their  paradise  with  man. 

IX 

Sit  at  the  feet  of  history  —  through  the  night 
Of  years  the  steps  of  virtue  she  shall  trace, 
And  show  the  earlier  ages,  where  her  sight  75 

Can  pierce  the  eternal  shadows  o'er  their  face ;  — 
When,  from  the  genial  cradle  of  our  race, 
Went  forth  the  tribes  of  men,  their  pleasant  lot 
To  choose,  where  palm-groves  cooled  their  dwelling- 
place, 

Or  freshening  rivers  ran;   and  there  forgot  80 

The  truth  of  heaven,  and  kneeled  to  gods  that  heard 
them  not. 


THE  AGES  29 


Then  waited  not  the  murderer  for  the  night, 
But  smote  his  brother  down  in  the  bright  day, 
And  he  who  felt  the  wrong,  and  had  the  might, 
His  own  avenger,  girt  himself  to  slay;  85 

Beside  the  path  the  unburied  carcass  lay; 
The  shepherd,  t>y  the  fountains  of  the  glen, 
Fled,  while  the  robber  swept  his  flock  away, 
And  slew  his  babes.     The  sick,  untended  then, 
Languished  in  the  damp  shade,   and  died  afar  from 

men.  90 

* 

XI 

But  misery  brought  in  love  —  in  passion's  strife 
Man  gave  his  heart  to  mercy,  pleading  long, 
And  sought  out  gentle  deeds  to  gladden  life ; 
The  weak,  against  the  sons  of  spoil  and  wrong, 
Banded,  and  watched  their  hamlets,  and  grew  strong.  95 
States  rose,  and,  in  the  shadow  of  their  might, 
The  timid  rested.     To  the  °reverent  throng, 
Grave  and  time-wrinkled  men,  with  locks  all  white, 
Gave  laws,  and  judged  their  strifes,  and  taught  the  way 
of  right; 

XII 

Till  bolder  spirits  seized  the  rule,  and  nailed  ioc 

On  men  the  yoke  that  man  should  never  bear, 
And  drove  them  forth  to  battle.     Lo  !  unveiled 
The  scene  of  those  stern  ages  !     What  is  there ! 
A  boundless  sea  of  blood,  and  the  wild  air 


30  EARLIER  POEMS 

Moans  with  the  crimson  surges  that  entomb  105 

Cities  and  bannered  armies ;  forms  that  wear 
The  kingly  circlet  rise,  amid  the  gloom, 
O'er  the  dark  wave,  and  straight  are  swallowed  in  its 
womb. 

xni 

°Those  ages  have  no  memory  —  but  they  left 
A  record  in  the  desert  —  columns  strown  no 

On  the  waste  sands,  and  statues  fallen  and  cleft, 
Heaped  like  a  host  in  battle  overthrown  ; 
Vast  ruins,  where  the  mountain's  ribs  of  stone 
Were  hewn  into  a  city;  streets  that  spread 
In  the  dark  earth,  where  never  breath  has  blown     115 
Of  heaven's  sweet  air,  nor  foot  of  man  dares  tread 
The  long  and  perilous  ways  —  the  Cities  of  the  Dead : 


XIV 

°And  tombs  of  monarchs  to  the  clouds  up-piled  - 
They  perished  —  but  the  eternal  tombs  remain  — 
And  the  black  precipice,  abrupt  and  wild,  120 

Pierced  by  long  toil  and  hollowed  to  a  °f ane ;  — 
Huge  piers  and  frowning  forms  of  gods  sustain 
The  everlasting  arches,  dark  and  wide, 
Like   the  night-heaven,  when  clouds  are  black  with 

rain. 

But  idly  skill  was  tasked,  and  strength  was  plied,    125 
All  was  the  work  of  slaves  to  swell  a  despot's  pride. 


THE  AGES  31 

XV 

And  Virtue  cannot  dwell  with  slaves,  nor  reign 
O'er  those  who  cower  to  take  a  tyrant's  yoke; 
She  left  the  down-trod  nations  in  disdain, 
And  flew  to  Greece,  when  Liberty  awoke,  130 

New-born,  amid  those  glorious  vales,  and  broke 
Sceptre  and  chain  with  her  fair  youthful  hands : 
As  rocks  are  shivered  in  the  thunder-stroke. 
And  lo  !  in  full-grown  strength,  an  empire  stands 
Of  leagued  and  rival  states,  the  wonder  of  the  lands.    135 

XVI 

°0h,  Greece  !  thy  flourishing  cities  were  a  spoil 
Unto  each  other;   thy  hard  hand  oppressed 
And  crushed  the  helpless ;  thou  didst  make  thy  soil 
Drunk  with  the  blood  of  those  that  loved  thee  best ; 
And  thou  didst  drive,  from  thy  unnatural  breast,     140 
Thy  just  and  brave  to  die  in  distant  climes ; 
Earth  shuddered  at  thy  deeds,  and  sighed  for  rest 
From  thine  abominations;  after  times, 
That  yet  shall  read  thy  tale,  will  tremble  at  thy  crimes. 

XVII 

Yet  there  was  that  within  thee  which  has  saved       145 

Thy  glory,  and  redeemed  thy  blotted  name ; 

The  story  of  thy  better  deeds,  engraved 

On  fame's  unmouldering  pillar,  puts  to  shame 

Our  chiller  virtue ;  the  high  art  to  tame 


32  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  whirlwind  of  the  passions  was  thine  own;  150 

And  the  pure  ray,  that  from  thy  bosom  came, 
Far  over  many  a  land  and  age  has  shone, 
And  mingles  with  the  light  that  beams  from  God's  own 
throne. 

XVIII 

And  Rome  —  thy  sterner,  younger  sister,  she 

Who  awed  the  world  with  her  imperial  frown  —       155 

Rome  drew  the  spirit  of  her  race  from  thee,  — 

The  rival  of  thy  shame  and  thy  renown. 

Yet  her  degenerate  children  sold  the  crown 

Of  earth's  wide  kingdoms  to  a  line  of  slaves ; 

Guilt  reigned,  and  woe  with  guilt,  and  plagues  came 

down,  160 

°Till  the  north  broke  its  floodgates,  and  the  waves 
Whelmed  the  degraded  race,  and  °weltered  o'er  their 

graves. 

XIX 

0 Vainly  that  ray  of  brightness  from  above, 
That  shone  around  the  Galilean  lake, 
The  light  of  hope,  the  leading  star  of  love,  165 

Struggled,  the  darkness  of  that  day  to  break; 
Even  its  own  faithless  guardians  strove  to  slake, 
In  fogs  of  earth,  the  pure  immortal  flame ; 
And  priestly  hands,  for  Jesus'  blessed  sake, 
Were  red  with  blood,  and  charity  became,  170 

In  that  stern  war  of  forms,  a  mockery  and  a  name. 


THE  AGES  33 

XX 

They  triumphed,  and  less  bloody  rites  were  kept 
Within  the  quiet  of  the  convent  cell  ; 
The  well-fed  inmates  °pattered  prayer,  and  slept, 
And  sinned,  and  liked  their  easy  penance  well.          175 
Where  pleasant  was  the  spot  for  men  to  dwell, 
Amid  its  faiHbroad  lands  the  abbey  lay, 
Sheltering  dark  °orgies  that  were  shame  to  tell, 
And  cowled  and  barefoot  beggars  swarmed  the  way, 
All  in  their  convent  weeds,  of  black,  and  white,  and 
gray.  iSo 

XXI 

Oh,  sweetly  the  returning  muses'  strain 
Swelled  over  that  famed  stream,  whose  gentle  tide 
In  their  bright  lap  the  °Etrurian  vales  detain, 
Sweet,  as  when  winter  storms  have  ceased  to  chide, 
And  all  the  new-leaved  woods,  resounding  wide,       185 
Send  out  wild  hymns  upon  the  scented  air. 
Lo  !  to  the  smiling  °Arno7s  classic  side 
The  °emulous  nations  of  the  west  repair, 
And  kindle  their  quenched  urns,  and  drink  fresh  spirit 
there. 

XXII 

Still,. Heaven  deferred  the  hour  ordained  to  rend      190 
From  saintly  rottenness  the  sacred  °stole; 
And  cowl  and  worshipped  shrine  could  still  defend 
The  wretch  with  felon  stains  upon  his  soul ; 


34  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  crimes  were  set  to  sale,  and  hard  his  °dole 
Who  could  not  bribe  a  passage  to  the  skies ;  195 

And  vice,  beneath  the  °mitre's  kind  control, 
Sinned  gayly  on,  and  drew  to  giant  size, 
Shielded  by  priestly    power,  and  watched  by  priestly 
eyes. 

XXIII 

°At  last  the  earthquake  came  —  the  shock,  that  hurled 
To  dust,  in  many  fragments  dashed  and  strown,       200 
The  throne,  whose  roots  were  in  another  world, 
And  whose  far-stretching  shadow  awed  our  own. 
From  many  a  proud  monastic  pile,  overthrown, 
Fear-struck,  the  hooded  inmates  rushed  and  fled  ; 
The  web,  that  for  a  thousand  years  had  grown         205 
O'er  prostrate  Europe,  in  that  day  of  dread 
Crumbled  and  fell,  as  fire  dissolves  the  flaxen  thread. 

XXIV 

The  spirit  of  that  day  is  still  awake, 
And  spreads  himself,  and  shall  not  sleep  again; 
But  through  the  idle  mesh  of  power  shall  break        210 
Like  billows  o'er  the  °Asian  monarch's  chain; 
Till  men  are  filled  with  him,  and  feel  how  vain, 
Instead  of  the  pure  heart  and  innocent  hands, 
Are  all  the  proud  and  pompous  modes  to  gain 
The  smile  of  heaven;  —  till  a  new  age  expands         215 
Its  white  and  holy  wings  above  the  peaceful  land§, 


THE  AGES  35 

XXV 

For  look  again  on  the  past  years ;  —  behold, 
How  like  the  nightmare's  dreams  have  flown  away 
Horrible  forms  of  worship,  that,  of  old, 
Held,  o'er  the  shuddering  realms,  unquestioned  sway :  220 
See  crimes,  that  feared  not  once  the  eye  of  day, 
Rooted  from  men,  without  a  name  or  place : 
See  nations  blotted  out  from  earth,  to  pay 
The  forfeit  of  deep  guilt ;  —  with  glad  embrace 
The  fair  disburdened  lands  welcome  a  nobler  race.      225 

XXVI 

Thus  error's  monstrous  shapes  from  earth  are  driven; 
They  fade,  they  fly  —  but  truth  survives  their  flight ; 
Earth  has  no  shades  to  quench  that  beam  of  heaven; 
Each  ray  that  shone,  in  early  time,  to  light 
The  faltering  footsteps  in  the  path  of  right,  230 

Each  gleam  of  clearer  brightness  shed  to  aid 
In  man's  maturer  day  his  bolder  sight, 
All  blended,  like  the  rainbow's  radiant  braid, 
Pour  yet,  and  still  shall  pour,  the  blaze  that  cannot  fade. 

XXVII 

Late,  from  this  western  shore,  that  morning  chased  235 
The  deep  and  °ancient  night,  that  threw  its  shroud 
O'er  the  green  land  of  groves,  the  beautiful  waste, 
Nurse  of  full  streams,  and  lifter-up  of  proud 
Sky-mingling  mountains  that  o'erlook  the  cloud. 


36  EARLIER  POEMS 

Erewhile,  where  yon  gay  spires  their  brightness  rear,  240 
Trees  waved,  and  the  brown  hunter's  shouts  were  loud 
Amid  the  forest ;  and  the  bounding  deer 
Fled  at  the  glancing  plume,  and  the  gaunt  wolf  yelled 
near. 

XXVIII 

And  where  his  willing  waves  °yon  bright  blue  bay 
Sends  up,  to  kiss  his  decorated  brim,  245 

And  cradles,  in  his  soft  embrace,  the  gay 
Young  group  of  grassy  islands  born  of  him, 
And  crowding  nigh,  or  in  the  distance  dim, 
Lift  the  white  throng  of  sails,  that  bear  or  bring 
The  commerce  of  the  world ;  —  with  °tawny  limb,   250 
And  belt  and  beads  in  sunlight  glistening, 
The  savage  urged  his  skiff  like  wild  bird  on  the  wing. 


XXIX 

Then  all  this  youthful  paradise  around, 
And  all  the  broad  and  boundless  mainland,  lay 
Cooled  by  the  interminable  wood,  that  frowned 
O'er  mount  and  vale,  where  never  summer  ray 
Glanced,  till  the  strong  tornado  broke  his  way 
Through  the  gray  giants  of  the  sylvan  wild ; 
Yet  many  a  sheltered  glade,  with  blossoms  gay, 
Beneath  the  showery  sky  and  sunshine  mild, 
Within  the  shaggy  arms  of  that  dark  forest  smiled. 


THE  AGES  37 

XXX 

There  stood  the  Indian  hamlet,  there  the  lake 
Spread  its  blue  sheet  that  flashed  with  many  an  oar, 
Where  the  brown  otter  plunged  him  from  the  brake, 
And  the  deer  drank :  as  the  light  gale  flew  o'er,        265 
The  twinkling  maize-field  rustled  on  the  shore  ; 
And  while  that  spot,  so  wild,  and  lone,  and  fair, 
A  look  of  glad  and  guiltless  beauty  wore, 
And  peace  was  on  the  6arth  and  in  the  air, 
The  warrior  lit  the  pile,  and  bound  his  captive  there :  270 

XXXI 

Not  unavenged  —  the  foeman,  from  the  wood, 
Beheld  the  deed,  and  when  the  midnight  shade 
Was  stillest,  gorged  his  battle-axe  with  blood ; 
All  die  —  the  wailing  babe  —  the  shrieking  maid  - 
And  in  the  flood  of  fire  that  scathed  the  glade,         275 
The  roofs  went  down;  but  deep  the  silence  grew, 
When  on  the  dewy  woods  the  day-beam  played  ; 
No  more  the  cabin  smokes  rose  wreathed  and  blue, 
And  ever,  by  their  lake,  lay  moored  the  light  canoe. 


Lo< 


XXXII 


>ok  now  abroad  —  another  race  has  filled  280 

These  populous  borders  —  wide  the  wood  recedes, 
And  towns  shoot  up,  and  fertile  realms  are  tilled : 
The  land  is  full  of  harvests  and  green  meads ; 
Streams  numberless,  that  many  a  fountain  feeds, 


38  EARLIER  POEMS 

Shine,  °disembowered,  and  give  to  sun  and  breeze   285 
Their  virgin  waters ;   the  full  region  leads 
New  colonies  forth,  that  toward  the  western  seas 
Spread,  like  a  rapid  flame  among  the  autumnal  trees. 


XXXIII 

Here  the  free  spirit  of  mankind,  at  length, 
Throws  its  last  fetters  off ;  and  who  shall  place         290 
A  limit  to  the  giant's  unchained  strength, 
Or  curb  his  swiftness  in  the  forward  race ! 
Far,  like  the  comet's  way  through  infinite  space, 
Stretches  the  long  untra veiled  path  of  light, 
Into  the  depths  of  ages :  we  may  trace,  295 

Distant,  the  brightening  glory  of  its  flight, 
Till  the  receding  rays  are  lost  to  human  sight. 


xxxiv 

Europe  is  given  a  prey  to  sterner  fates, 
And  writhes  in  shackles;  strong  the  arms  that  chain 
To  earth  her  struggling  multitude  of  states ;  300 

She  too  is  strong,  and  might  not  chafe  in  vain 
Against  them,  but  might  cast  to  earth  the  train 
That  trample  her,  and  break  their  iron  net. 
Yes,  she  shall  look  on  brighter  days  and  gain 
The  meed  of  worthier  deeds ;  the  moment  set  305 

To  rescue  and  raise  up,  draws  near  —  but  is  not  yet. 


ODE  FOR  AN  AGRICULTURAL   CELEBRATION        39 
XXXV 

But  thou,  my  country,  thou  shalt  never  fall, 
Save  with  thy  children  —  thy  maternal  care, 
Thy  lavish  love,  thy  blessings  showered  on  all  — 
These  are  thy  fetters  —  seas  and  stormy  air  310 

Are  the  wide  barrier  of  thy  borders,  where, 
Among  thy  gallant  sons  that  guard  thee  well, 
Thou  laugh'st  at  enemies :  who  shall  then  declare 
The  date  of  thy  deep-founded  strength,  or  tell 
How  happy,  in  thy  lap,  the  sons  of  men  shall  dwell  ?  315 


°ODE  FOR  AN  AGRICULTURAL  CELEBRATION 

FAR  back  in  the  ages, 

The  plough  with  wreaths  was  crowned; 
The  hands  of  kings  and  °sages 

Entwined  the  chaplet  round ; 
Till  men  of  spoil  disdained  the  toil  5 

By  which  the  world  was  nourished, 
And  dews  of  blood  enriched  the  soil 

Where  green  their  °laurels  flourished. 
—  Now  the  world  her  fault  repairs  — 

The  guilt  that  stains  her  story ;  ic 

And  weeps  her  crimes  amid  the  cares 

That  formed  her  earliest  glory. 

The  proud  throne  shall  crumble, 
The  °diadem  shall  wane, 


40  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  tribes  of  earth  shall  humble  15 

The  pride  of  those  who  reign; 
And  War  shall  lay  his  pomp  away;  — 

The  fame  that  heroes  cherish, 
The  glory  earned  in  deadly  fray 

Shall  fade,  decay,  and  perish.  20 

Honor  waits,  o'er  all  the  earth, 

Through  endless  generations, 
The  art  that  calls  her  harvest  forth, 

And  feeds  the  expectant  nations. 


THE  RIVULET  41 


°THE  RIVULET 


There  is  a  charming  tenderness  and  simplicity  in  the  little  piece 
called  "  The  Rivulet,"^that  every  reader,  at  all  conversant  with  rural 
sights  and  associations,  sympathizes  with  instantly.  —  American  Quar- 
terly Review  for  December,  1836. 

THIS  little  rill,  that  from  the  springs 
Of  yonder  grove  its  current  brings, 
Plays  on  the  slope  a  while,  and  then 
Goes  prattling  into  groves  again, 
Oft  to  its  warbling  waters  drew  5 

My  little  feet,  when  life  was  new. 
When  woods  in  early  green  were  dressed, 
And  from  the  chambers  of  the  west 
The  warmer  breezes,  travelling  out, 
Breathed  the  new  scent  of  flowers  about,  10 

My  truant  steps  from  home  would  stray, 
Upon  its  grassy  side  to  play, 
List  the  brown  thrasher's  °vernal  hymn, 
And  crop  the  violet  on  its  brim, 
With  blooming  cheek  and  open  brow,  15 

As  young  and  gay,  sweet  rill,  as  thou. 

And  when  the  days  of  boyhood  came, 
And  I  had  grown  in  love  with  fame, 
°Duly  I  sought  thy  banks,  and  tried 


42  EARLIER  POEMS 

My  first  rude  numbers  by  thy  side.  20 

Words  cannot  tell  how  bright  and  gay 

The  scenes  of  life  before  me  lay. 

Then  glorious  hopes,  that  now  to  speak 

Would  bring  the  blood  into  my  cheek, 

Passed  o'er  me;  and  I  wrote,  on  high,  25 

A  name  I  deemed  should  never  die. 

Years  change  thee  not.     Upon  yon  hill 
The  tall  old  maples,  verdant  still, 
Yet  tell,  in  grandeur  of  decay, 
How  swift  the  years  have  passed  away.  30 

Since  first,  a  child,  and  half  afraid, 
I  wandered  in  the  forest  shade. 
Thou  ever  joyous  rivulet, 
Dost  dimple,  leap,  and  prattle  yet ; 
And  sporting  with  the  sands  that  pave  35 

The  windings  of  thy  silver  wave, 
And  dancing  to  thy  own  wild  chime, 
Thou  laughest  at  the  lapse  of  time. 
The  same  sweet  sounds  are  in  my  ear 
My  early  childhood  loved  to  hear;  4o 

As  pure  thy  limpid  waters  run, 
As  bright  they  sparkle  to  the  sun; 
As  fresh  and  thick  the  bending  ranks 
Of  herbs  that  line  thy  oozy  banks; 
The  violet  there,  in  soft  May  dew,  45 

Comes  up,  as  modest  and  as  blue, 
As  green  amid  thy  current's  stress, 
Floats  the  scarce-rooted  watercress : 


THE  RIVULET  43 

And  the  brown  °ground-bird,  in  thy  glen, 

Still  chirps  as  merrily  as  then.  50 

Thou  changest  not  —  but  I  am  changed, 
Since  first  thy  pleasant  banks  I  ranged ; 
And  the  grave  stranger,  come  to  see 
The  play-place  of  his  infancy, 
Has  scarce  a  single  trace  of  him  55 

Who  sported  once  upon  thy  brim. 
The  visions  of  my  youth  are  past  — 
Too  bright,  too  beautiful  to  last. 
I've  tried  the  world  —  it  wears  no  more 
The  coloring  of  romance  it  wore.  60 

Yet  well  has  Nature  kept  the  truth 
She  promised  to  my  earliest  youth. 
The  radiant  beauty  shed  abroad 
On  all  the  glorious  works  of  God, 
Shows  freshly,  to  my  sobered  eye,  <Js 

Each  charm  it  wore  in  days  gone  by. 

A  few  brief  years  shall  pass  away, 
And  I,  all  trembling,  weak,  and  gray, 
Bowed  to  the  earth,  which  waits  to  fold 
My  ashes  in  the  embracing  mould,  ;o 

(If  haply  the  dark  will  of  fate 
Indulge  my  life  so  long  a  date,) 
May  come  for  the  last  time  to  look 
Upon  my  childhood's  favorite  brook. 
Then  dimly  on  my  eye  shall  gleam  75 

The  sparkle  of  thy  dancing  stream; 


44  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  faintly  on  my  ear  shall  fall 

Thy  prattling  current's  merry  call; 

Yet  shalt  thou  flow  as  glad  and  bright 

As  when  thou  met'st  my  infant  sight.  So 

And  I  shall  sleep  —  and  on  thy  side, 
As  ages  after  ages  glide, 
Children  their  early  sports  shall  try, 
And  pass  to  hoary  age  and  die. 
But  thou,  unchanged  from  year  to  year,  85 

Gayly  shalt  play  and  glitter  here ; 
Amid  young  flowers  and  tender  grass 
Thy  endless  infancy  shalt  pass; 
And,  singing  down  thy  narrow  glen, 
Shalt  mock  the  fading  race  of  men.  90 


MARCH 

THE  stormy  March  is  come  at  last, 

With  wind,  and  cloud,  and  changing  skies. 

I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast, 
That  through  the  snowy  valley  flies. 

Ah,  °passing  few  are  they  who  speak, 
Wild  stormy  month  !  in  praise  of  thee ; 

Yet,  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak, 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 


SUMMER    WIND  45 

°For  thou,  to  northern  lands,  again 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring,  10 

And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train 

And  wear'st  the  gentle  name  of  Spring. 

And,  in  thy  reign  of  blast  and  storm, 
Smiles  many  a  long,  bright,  sunny  day, 

When  the  changed  winds  are  soft  and  warm,          15 
And  heaven  puts  on  the  blue  of  May. 

Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills 

And  the  full  springs,  from  frost  set  free, 

That,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills, 

Are  just  set  out  to  meet  the  sea.  20 

The  year's  departing  beauty  hides 

Of  wintry  storms  the  sullen  threat ; 
But  in  thy  sternest  frown  abides 

A  look  of  kindly  promise  yet. 

Thou  bring'st  the  hope  of  those  calm  skies,  25 

And  that  soft  time  of  sunny  showers, 

When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that  lies, 
Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours. 


SUMMER  WIND 

IT  is  a  sultry  day ;  the  sun  has  drunk 
The  dew  that  lay  upon  the  morning  grass ; 
There  is  no  rustling  in  the  lofty  elm 


46  EARLIER  POEMS 

That  canopies  my  dwelling,  and  its  shade 

Scarce  cools  me.     All  is  silent,  save  the  faint  5 

And  interrupted  murmur  of  the  bee, 

Settling  on  the  sick  flowers,  and  then  again 

Instantly  on  the  wing.     The  plants  around 

Feel  the  too  °potent  fervors :  the  tall  maize 

Rolls  up  its  long  green  leaves;   the  clover  droops  ic? 

Its  tender  foliage,  and  °declines  its  blooms. 

But  far  in  the  fierce  sunshine  tower  the  hills, 

With  all  their  growth  of  woods,  silent  and  stern, 

As  if  the  scorching  heat  and  dazzling  light 

Were  but  an  element  they  loved.     Bright  clouds,          15 

Motionless  pillars  of  the  °brazen  heaven  — 

Their  bases  on  the  mountains  —  their  white  tops 

Shining  in  the  far  ether  —  fire  the  air 

With  a  reflected  radiance,  and  make  turn 

The  gazer's  eye  away.     For  me,  I  lie  20 

Languidly  in  the  shade,  where  the  thick  turf, 

Yet  °virgin  from  the  kisses  of  the  sun, 

Retains  some  freshness,  and  I  woo  the  wind 

That  still  delays  its  coming.     Why  so  slow, 

Gentle  and  °voluble  spirit  of  the  air  ?  25 

Oh,  come  and  breathe  upon  the  fainting  earth 

Coolness  and  life.     °Is  it  that  in  his  caves 

He  hears  me  ?     See,  on  yonder  woody  ridge, 

The  pine  is  bending  his  proud  top,  and  now 

Among  the  nearer  groves,  chestnut  an'd  oak  30 

Are  tossing  their  green  boughs  about.     He  comes; 

Lo,  where  the  grassy  meadow  runs  in  waves  ! 

The  deep  distressful  silence  of  the  scene 


"/  BROKE   THE  SPELL   THAT  HELD  ME  LONG"      47 

Breaks  up  with  mingling  of  unnumbered  sounds 

And  universal  motion.     He  is  come,  35 

Shaking  a  shower  of  blossoms  from  the  shrubs, 

And  bearing  on  their  fragrance ;   and  he  brings 

Music  of  birds,  and  rustling  of  young  boughs, 

And  sound  of  swaying  branches,  and  the  voice 

Of  distant  waterfalls.     All  the  green  herbs  40 

Are  stirring  in  his  breath ;  a  thousand  flowers, 

By  the  road-side  and  the  borders  of  the  brook, 

Nod  gayly  to  each  other;  glossy  leaves 

Are  twinkling  in  the  sun,  as  if  the  dew 

Were  on  them  yet,  and  silver  waters  break  45 

Into  small  waves  and  sparkle  as  he  comes. 


"I  BROKE  THE  SPELL  THAT  HELD  ME  LONG" 

I  BROKE  the  spell  that  held  me  long, 

The  dear,  dear  °witchery  of  song. 

I  said,  the  poet's  idle  °lore 

Shall  waste  my  prime  of  years  no  more, 

For  Poetry,  though  heavenly  born,  5 

°Consorts  with  poverty  and  scorn. 

I  broke  the  spell  —  nor  °deemed  its  power 

Could  fetter  me  another  hour. 

Ah,  thoughtless  !  how  could  I  forget 

Its  causes  were  around  me  yet  ?  ic 

For  wheresoever  I  looked,  the  while, 

Was  nature's  everlasting  smile, 


48  EARLIER  POEMS 

Still  came  and  lingered  on  my  sight 

Of  flowers  and  streams  the  bloom  and  light, 

And  glory  of  the  stars  and  sun;  —  15 

And  these  and  poetry  are  one. 

They,  ere  the  world  had  held  me  long, 

Recalled  me  to  the  love  of  song. 


MONUMENT  MOUNTAIN  49 


°MONUMENT  MOUNTAIN 

The  mountain,  called  by  this  name,  is  a  remarkable  precipice  in 
Great  Barrington,  overlooking  the  rich  and  picturesque  valley  of  the 
Housatonic,  in  the  western  part  of  Massachusetts.  At  the  southern 
extremity  is,  or  was  a  few  years  since,  a  conical  pile  of  small  stones, 
erected,  according  to  the  tradition  of  the  surrounding  country,  by  the 
Indians,  in  memory  of  a  woman  of  the  Stockbridge  tribe,  who  killed 
herself  by  leaping  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  Until  within  a  few 
years  past,  small  parties  of  that  tribe  used  to  arrive  from  their  settle- 
ment in  the  western  part  of  the  state  of  Nevj  York,  on  visits  to  Stock- 
bridge,  the  place  of  their  nativity  and  former  residence.  A  young 
woman  belonging  to  one  of  these  parties  related,  to  a  friend  of  the 
author,  the  story  on  which  the  poem  of  "  Monument  Mountain  "  is 
founded.  An  Indian  girl  had  formed  an  attachment  for  her  cousin, 
ivhich,  according  to  the  customs  of  the  tribe,  was  unlawful.  She  was,  in 
consequence,  seized  with  a  deep  melancholy,  and  resolved  to  destroy  her- 
self. In  company  with  a  female  friend,  she  repaired  to  the  mountain, 
decked  out  for  the  occasion  in  all  her  ornaments,  and,  after  passing 
the  day  on  the  summit  in  singing  with  her  companion  the  traditional 
songs  of  her  nation,  she  threw  herself  headlong  from  the  rock,  and  was 
killed.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

THOU  who  wouldst  see  the  lovely  and  the  wild 
Mingled  in  harmony  on  Nature's  face, 
Ascend  our  rocky  mountains.     Let  thy  foot 
Fail  not  with  weariness,  for  on  their  tops 
The  beauty  and  the  majesty  of  earth,  5 

Spread  wide  beneath,  shall  make  thee  to  forget 
The  steep  and  toilsome  way.     There,  as  thou  stand'st, 


50  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  haunts  of  men  below  thee,  and  around 

The  mountain  summits,  thy  expanding  heart 

Shall  feel  a  kindred  with  that  loftier  world  ic 

To  which  thou  art  translated,  and  partake 

The  enlargement  of  thy  vision.     Thou  shalt  look 

Upon  the  green  and  rolling  forest  tops, 

And  down  into  the  secrets  of  the  glens, 

And  streams,  that  with  their  bordering  thickets  strive   15 

To  hide  their  windings.     Thou  shalt  gaze,  at  once, 

Here  on  white  villages,  and  °tilth,  and  herds, 

And  swarming  roads,  and  there  on  solitudes 

That  only  hear  the  torrent,  and  the  wind, 

And  eagle's  shriek.     There  is  a  precipice  20 

That  seems  a  fragment  of  some  mighty  wall, 

Built  by  the  hand  that  fashioned  the  old  world, 

To  separate  its  nations,  and  thrown  down 

When  the  flood  drowned  them.     To  ihe  north,  a  path 

Conducts  you  up  the  narrow  battlement.  25 

Steep  is  the  western  side,  shaggy  and  wild 

With  mossy  trees,  and  °pinnacles  of  flint, 

And  many  a  hanging  crag.     But,  to  the  east, 

Sheer  to  the  vale  go  down  the  bare  old  cliffs,  — 

Huge  pillars,  that  in  °middle  heaven  upbear  30 

Their  weather-beaten  °capitals,  here  dark 

With  the  thick  moss  of  centuries,  and  there 

Of  chalky  whiteness  where  the  thunderbolt 

Has  splintered  them.     It  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  stand  upon  the  °beetling  verge,  and  see  35 

Where  storm  and  lightning,  from  that  huge  gray  wall. 

Have  tumbled  down  vast  blocks,  and  at  the  base 


MONUMENT  MOUNTAIN  51 

Dashed  them  in  fragments,  and  to  lay  thine  ear 

Over  the  dizzy  depth,  and  hear  the  sound 

Of  winds,  that  struggle  with  the  woods  below,  4c 

Come  up  like  ocean  murmurs.     But  the  scene 

Is  lovely  round ;  a  beautiful  river  there 

Wanders  amid  the  fresh  and  fertile  meads, 

The  paradise  Jhe^aade  unto  himself, 

Mining  the  soil  for  ages.     On  each  side  45 

The  fields  swell  upward  to  the  hills ;  beyond, 

Above  the  hills,  in  the  blue  distance,  rise 

The  mighty  columns  with  which  earth  props  heaven. 

There  is  a  tale  about  these  °reverend  rocks, 
A  sad  tradition  of  unhappy  love,  50 

And  sorrows  borne  and  ended,  long  ago, 
When  over  these  fair  vales  the  savage  sought 
His  game  in  the  thick  woods.     There  was  a  maid, 
The  fairest  of  the  Indian  maids,  bright-eyed, 
With  wealth  of  raven  tresses,  a  light  form,  55 

And  a  gay  heart.     About  her  cabin-door 
The  wide  old  woods  resounded  with  her  song 
And  fairy  laughter  all  the  summer  day. 
She  loved  her  cousin ;  such  a  love  was  deemed, 
By  the  morality  of  those  stern  tribes,  6c 

Incestuous,  and  she  struggled  hard  and  long 
Against  her  love,  and  reasoned  with  her  heart, 
As  simple  Indian  maiden  might.     In  vain. 
Then  her  eye  lost  its  lustre,  and  her  step 
Its  lightness,  and  the  gray-haired  men  that  passed        65 
Her  dwelling,  wondered  that  they  heard  no  more 


52  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  accustomed  song  and  laugh  of  her,  whose  looks 

Were  like  the  cheerful  smile  of  Spring,  they  said, 

Upon  the  Winter  of  their  age.     She  went 

To  weep  where  no  eye  saw,  and  was  not  found  70 

When  all  the  merry  girls  were  met  to  dance, 

And  all  the  hunters  of  the  tribe  were  out; 

Nor  when  they  gathered  from  the  rustling  husk 

The  shining  ear;  nor  when,  by  the  river's  side, 

They  pulled  the  grape  and  startled  the  wild  shades       75 

With  sounds  of  mirth.     The  keen-eyed  Indian  dames 

Would  whisper  to  each  other,  as  they  saw 

Her  wasting  form,  and  say  the  girl  will  die. 

One  day  into  the  bosom  of  a  friend, 
A  playmate  of  her  young  and  innocent  years,  80 

She   poured    her   griefs.      "Thou   know'st,    and    thou 

alone," 

She  said,  "  for  I  have  told  thee,  all  my  love, 
And  guilt,  and  sorrow.     I  am  sick  of  life. 
All  night  I  weep  in  darkness,  and  the  morn 
Glares  on  me,  as  upon  a  thing  accursed,  85 

That  has  no  business  on  the  earth.     I  hate 
The  pastimes  and  the  pleasant  toils  that  .once 
I  loved ;  the  cheerful  voices  of  my  friends 
Have  an  unnatural  horror  in  mine  ear. 
In  dreams  my  mother,  from  the  land  of  souls,  9c 

Calls  me  and  chides  me.     All  that  look  on  me 
Do  seem  to  know  my  shame ;  I  cannot  bear 
Their  eyes;  I  cannot  from  my  heart  root  out 
The  love  that  wrings  it  so,  and  I  must  die." 


MONUMENT  MOUNTAIN  53 

It  was  a  summer  morning,  and  they  went  95 

To  this  old  precipice.     About  the  cliffs 
Lay  garlands,  ears  of  maize,  and  shaggy  skins 
Of  wolf  and  bear,  the  offerings  of  the  tribe 
Here  made  to  the  Great  Spirit,  for  they  °deemed, 
°Like  worshippers  of  the  elder  time,  that  God  100 

Doth  walk  on  the  high  places  and  °affect 
The  earth-overlooking  mountains.     She  had  on 
The  ornaments  with  which  her  father  loved 
To  deck  the  beauty  of  his  bright-eyed  girl, 
And  bade  her  wear  when  stranger  warriors  came          105 
To  be  his  guests.     Here  the  friends  sat  them  down, 
And  sang,  all  day,  old  songs  of  love  and  death, 
And  decked  the  poor  wan  victim's  hair  with  flowers, 
And  prayed  that  safe  and  swift  might  be  her  way 
To  the  calm  world  of  sunshine,  where  no  grief  no 

Makes  the  heart  heavy  and  the  eyelids  red. 
Beautiful  lay  the  region  of  her  tribe 
Below  her  —  waters  resting  in  the  embrace 
Of  the  wide  forest,  and  maize-planted  glades 
Opening  amid  the  leafy  wilderness.  115 

She  gazed  upon  it  long,  and  at  the  sight 
Of  her  own  village  peeping  through  the  trees, 
And  her  own  dwelling,  and  the  cabin  roof 
Of  him  she  loved  with  an  unlawful  love, 
And  came  to  die  for,  a  warm  gush  of  tears  120 

Ran  from  her  eyes.     But  when  the  sun  grew  low 
And  the  hill  shadows  long,  she  threw  herself 
From  the  steep  rock  and  perished.     There  was  scooped 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  slope,  a  grave ; 


54  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  there  they  laid  her,  in  the  very  garb  125 

With  which  the  maiden  decked  herself  for  death, 

With  the  same  withering  wild  flowers  in  her  hair. 

And  o'er  the  mould  that  covered  her,  the  tribe 

Built  up  a  simple  monument,  a  cone 

Of  small  loose  stones.     Thenceforward  all  who  passed,  130 

Hunter,  and  dame,  and  virgin,  laid  a  stone 

In  silence  on  the  pile.     It  stands  there  yet. 

And  Indians  from  the  distant  West,  who  come 

To  visit  where  their  fathers'  bones  are  laid, 

Yet  tell  the  sorrowful  tale,  and  to  this  day  135 

The  mountain  where  the  °hapless  maiden  died 

Is  called  the  Mountain  of  the  Monument. 


°SONG  OF  THE  GREEK  AMAZON 

I  BUCKLE  to  my  slender  side 

The  pistol  and  the  °scimitar, 
And  in  my  maiden  °flower  and  pride 

Am  come  to  share  the  tasks  of  war. 
And  yonder  stands  my  fiery  steed, 

That  paws  the  ground  and  neighs  to  go, 
My  charger  of  the  Arab  breed  — 

I  took  him  from  the  routed  foe. 

My  mirror  is  the  mountain-spring, 
At  which  I  dress  my  ruffled  hair; 

My  dimmed  and  dusty  arms  I  bring, 
And  wash  away  the  blood-stain  there. 


TO  A   CLOUD  55 

Why  should  I  guard  from  wind  and  sun 
This  cheek,  whose  °virgin  rose  is  fled  ? 

It  was  for  one  —  oh,  only  one  —  15 

I  kept  its  bloom,  and  he  is  dead. 

But  they  who  slew  him  —  unaware 

Of  coward  murderers  lurking  nigh  — 
And  left  him  to  the  fowls  of  air, 

Are  yet  alive  —  and  they  must  die !  20 

They  slew  him  —  and  my  °virgin  years 

Are  vowed  to  Greece  and  vengeance  now, 
And  many  an  °Othman  dame,  in  tears, 

Shall  rue  the  Grecian  maiden's  vow. 

I  touched  the  °lute  in  better  days,  25 

I  led  in  dance  the  joyous  band; 
Ah !  they  may  move  to  mirthful  lays 

Whose  hands  can  touch  a  lover's  hand. 
The  march  of  hosts  that  haste  to  meet 

Seems  gayer  than  the  dance  to  me ;  30 

The  lute's  sweet  tones  are  not  so  sweet 

As  the  fierce  shout  of  victory. 

°TO  A  CLOUD 

BEAUTIFUL  cloud  !  with  folds  so  soft  and  fair, 

Swimming  in  the  pure  quiet  air ! 
Thy  fleeces  bathed  in  sunlight,  while  below 

Thy  shadow  o'er  the  vale  moves  slow; 
Where,  midst  their  labor,  pause  the  reaper  train     5 

As  cool  it  comes  along  the  grain. 


56  EARLIER  POEMS 

Beautiful  cloud !  I  would  I  were  with  thee 

In  thy  calm  way  o'er  land  and  sea : 
To  rest  on  thy  unrolling  skirts,  and  look 

On  Earth  as  on  an  open  book ;  10 

On  streams  that  tie  her  realms  with  silver  bands, 

And  the  long  ways  that  seam  her  lands ; 
And  hear  her  humming  cities,  and  the  sound 

Of  the  great  ocean  breaking  round. 
Ay  —  I  would  sail  upon  thy  air-borne  car  15 

To  blooming  regions  distant  far, 
To  where  the  sun  of  °Andalusia  shines 

On  his  own  olive-groves  and  vines, 
Or  the  soft  lights  of  Italy's  bright  sky 

In  smiles  upon  her  ruins  lie.  20 

But  I  would  woo  the  winds  to  let  us  rest 

°O'er  Greece  long  fettered  and  oppressed, 
Whose   sons   at   length   have   heard   the    call    that 
comes 

From  the  old  battle-fields  and  tombs, 
And  risen,  and  drawn  the  sword,  and  on  the  foe        25 

Have  dealt  the  swift  and  desperate  blow, 
And  the  °0thman  power  is  cloven,  and  the  stroke 

Has  touched  its  chains,  and  they  are  broke. 
Ay,  we  would  linger  till  the  sunset  there 

Should  come,  to  purple  all  the  air,  30 

And  thou  reflect  upon  the  sacred  ground 

The  ruddy  radiance  streaming  round. 

Bright  °meteor !  for  the  summer  noontide  made ! 
Thy  peerless  beauty  yet  shall  fade. 


HYMN  TO   THE  NORTH  STAR  57 

The  sun,  that  fills  with  light  each  glistening  fold,     35 
Shall  set,  and  leave  thee  dark  and  cold : 

The  blast  shall  rend  thy  skirts,  or  thou  mayst  frown 
In  the  dark  heaven  when  storms  come  down; 

And  weep  in  rain,  till  man's  inquiring  eye 

Miss  thee,  for  ever,  from  the  sky.  40 


HYMN  TO  THE  NORTH  STAR 

THE  sad  and  solemn  night 
Hath  yet  her  multitude  of  cheerful  fires; 

The  glorious  host  of  light 
Walk  the  dark  hemisphere  till  she  retires; 
All  through  her  silent  watches,  gliding  slow,  5 

Her  Constellations  come,  and  climb  the  heavens,  and  go. 

Day,  too,  hath  many  a  star 
To  grace  his  gorgeous  reign,  as  bright  as  they : 

Through  the  blue  fields  afar, 

Unseen,  they  follow  in  his  flaming  way :  10 

Many  a  bright  lingerer,  as  the  eve  grows  dim, 
Tells  what  a  radiant  troop  arose  and  set  with  him. 

And  thou  dost  see  them  rise, 
Star  of  the  Pole  !  and  thou  dost  see  them  set. 

Alone,  in  thy  cold  skies,  15 

Thou  keep'st  thy  old  unmoving  station  yet, 
Nor  join'st  the  dances  of  that  glittering  train, 
Nor  dipp'st  thy  °virgin  orb  in  the  blue  western  °main. 


58  EARLIER  POEMS 

There,  at  morn's  rosy  birth, 
Thou  lookest  meekly  through  the  °kindling  air,         2c 

And  eve,  that  round  the  earth 
Chases  the  day,  beholds  thee  watching  there; 
There  noontide  finds  thee,  and  the  hour  that  calls 
The  °shapes  of  polar  flame  to  scale  heaven's  azure  walls. 

Alike,  beneath  thine  eye,  25 

The  deeds  of  darkness  and  of  light  are  done ; 

High  towards  the  starlit  sky 

Towns  blaze,  —  the  smoke  of  battle  blots  the  sun,  - 
The  night-storm  on  a  thousand  hills  is  loud, 
And  the  strong  wind  of  day  doth  mingle  sea  and  cloud.  30 

On  thy  unaltering  blaze 
The  half-wrecked  mariner,  his  compass  lost, 

Fixes  his  steady  gaze, 

And  steers,  undoubting,  to  the  friendly  coast; 
And  they  who  stray  in  perilous  wastes,  by  night,          35 
Are  glad  when  thou  dost  shine  to  guide  their  footsteps 
right. 

And,  therefore,  °bards  of  old, 
°Sages  and  hermits  of  the  solemn  wood, 

Did  in  thy  beams  behold 

A  beauteous  type  of  that  unchanging  good,  40 

That  bright  eternal  beacon,  by  whose  ray 
The  voyager  of  time  should  shape  his  heedful  way. 


A  FOREST  HYMN  59 


A  FOREST  HYMN 

The  Hymn  is  a  rich  offering  of  the  fancy  and  heart.  —  North  Ameri- 
can Review  for  April,  1826. 

"  A  Forest  Hymn  ^has  a  depth  of  grandeur  in  thought  and  a  finish 
in  diction  truly  admirable.  Such  a  hymn  could  have  been  conceived  by 
no  one  not  familiar  from  infancy  with  the  thick  foliage  and  tall  trunks 
of  our  primeval  forests.  —  Methodist  Quarterly  Review  for  January, 
1859. 

THE  groves  were  God's  first_temples.     Ere  man  learned 
To  hew  the  °shaft,  and  lay  the  °architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them,  —  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound  of  anthems;   in  the  darkling  wood,  5 

Amidst  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 
Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influences 
Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place,  10 

And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 
Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 
His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power  15 

And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 
Should  we,  jri_the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 


60  EARLIER  POEMS 

Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 

That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  ?     Let  me,  at  least,    20 

Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 

Offer  one  hymn  —  thrice  happy,  if  it  find 

Acceptance  in  His  ear. 

Father,  thy  hand 

Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns,  thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down  25 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze, 
And  shot  towards  heaven.     The  °century-living  crow, 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died          30 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  nqwjhey  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshipper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker.     °These  dim  vaults, 
These  winding  aisles,  of  human  pomp  or  pride  35 

Report  not.     No  fantastic  carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 
Of  thy  fair  works.     But  thou  art  here  —  thou  fill'st 
The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 
That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees  40 

In  music;  —  thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath 
That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place 
Comes,  scarcely  felt ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 
The  fresh  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  thee. 
Here  is  continual  worship ;  —  nature,  here,  45 

In  the  tranquillity  that  thou  dost  love, 


A  FOREST  HYMN-  61 

Enjoys  thy  presence.     Noiselessly,  around, 

From  perch  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 

Passes;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  midst  its  herbs, 

Wells  softly  forth  and  visits  the  strong  roots  50 

Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 

Of  all  the  good  it  does.     Thou  hast  not  left 

Thyself  without  ^witness,  in  these  shades, 

Of  thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 

Are  here  to  speak  of  thee.     This  mighty  oak  —  55 

By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand  and  seem 

Almost  Annihilated  —  °not  a  prince, 

In  all  that  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep, 

Ere  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he 

Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves  with  which  60 

Thy  hand  has  graced  him.     Nestled  at  his  root 

Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 

Of  the  broad  sun.     That  delicate  forest  flower 

With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 

Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould,  65 

An  °emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 

A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 

That  are  the  soul  of  this  wide  universe. 

My  heart  is  awed  within  me  when_I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  _that_s till  goes  on,  7° 

In  silence,  round  me  —  the  perpetual  work 
OFtTiyTreaTion,  finished,  yet  renewed 
For  ever.     Written  on  thy  works  I  read 
The  lesson  of  thy  own  eternity. 
Lo  !  all  grow  old  and  die  —  but  see  again,  75 


62  EARLIER  POEMS 

;  How  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  presses  —  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  that  their  ancestors 
Moulder  beneath  them.     Oh,  there  is  not  lost  80 

One  of  earth's  charms :  upon  her  bosom  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies 
And  yet  shall  lie.     Life  mocks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch  enemy  Death  —  yea,  seats  himself  85 

°Upon  the  tyrant's  throne  —  the  sepulchre, 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment.     For  he  came  forth 
From  thine  own  bosom,  and  shall  have  no  end. 

There  have  been  holy  men  who  hid  themselves          90 
Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 
Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 
The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seemed 
Less  aged  than  the  hoary  trees  and  rocks 
Around  them ;  —  and  there  have  been  holy  men  95 

Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 
But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.     Here  its  enemies, 
The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink  100 

And  tremble  and  are  still.     Oh,  God  !  wrhen  thou 
Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set  on  fire 
The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill, 
With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 


"OH  FAIREST  OF  THE  RURAL  MAIDS"       63 

The  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  woods         105 

And  drowns  the  villages;  when,  at  thy  call, 

Uprises  the  great  deep  and  throws  himself 

Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 

Its  cities  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power,  no 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by? 

Oh,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 

Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 

Of  the  mad  unchained  elements  to  teach 

Who  rules  them.     Be  it  ours  to  meditate  115 

In  these  calm  shades  thy  milder  majesty, 

And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 

Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives. 


"OH  FAIREST  OF  THE  RURAL  MAIDS" 

"  Oh  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids  "  will  strike  every  poet  as  the  truest 
poem  written  by  Bryant.    It  is  richly  ideal.  — EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

OH  fairest  of  the  rural  maids  ! 
Thy  birth  was  in  the  forest  shades  ; 
Green  boughs,  and  glimpses  of  the  sky, 
Were  all  that  met  thine  infant  eye. 

Thy  sports,  thy  wanderings,  when  a  child,  5 

Were  ever  in  the  sylvan  wild ; 
And  all  the  beauty  of  the  place 
Is  in  thy  heart  and  on  thy  face. 


64  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  twilight  of  the  trees  and  rocks 

Is  in  the  light  shade  of  thy  locks ;  10 

Thy  step  is  as  the  wind,  that  weaves 

Its  playful  way  among  the  leaves. 

Thine  eyes  are  springs,  in  whose  serene 

And  silent  waters  heaven  is  seen; 

Their  lashes  are  the  herbs  that  look  15 

On  their  young  figures  in  the  brook. 

The  forest  depths,  by  foot  unpressed, 

Are  not  more  sinless  than  thy  breast; 

The  holy  peace,  that  fills  the  air 

Of  those  calm  solitudes,  is  there.  20 

JUNE 

Among  the  minor  poems  of  Bryant,  none  has  so  much  impressed  me 
as  the  one  which  he  entitles  "June."  The  rhythmical  flow  here  is 
even  voluptuous  —  nothing  could  be  more  melodious.  The  poem  has 
always  affected  me  in  a  remarkable  manner.  The  intense  melancholy 
which  seems  to  well  up,  perforce,  to  the  surface  of  all  the  poet's  cheer- 
ful sayings  about  his  grave,  we  find  thrilling  us  to  the  soul  —  while 
there  is  the  truest  poetic  elevation  in  the  thrill.  The  impression  left  is 
one  of  pleasurable  sadness.  This  certain  taint  of  sadness  is  insepa- 
rably connected  with  all  the  higher  manifestations  of  true  Beauty. — 
EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 

I  GAZED  upon  the  glorious  sky 

And  the  green  mountains  round, 

And  thought  that  when  I  came  to  lie 
Within  the  silent  ground, 


JUNE  65 

'Twere  pleasant,  °that  in  flowery  June,  5 

When  brooks  send  up  a  cheerful  tune, 

And  groves  a  joyous  sound, 
The  sexton's  hand,  my  grave  to  make, 
The  rich,  green  mountain  turf  should  break. 

A  cell  within  the  frozen  mould,  10 

A  coffin  borne  through  sleet, 
And  icy  clods  above  it  rolled, 

While  fierce  the  tempests  beat  — 
Away  !  —  I  will  not  think  of  these  - 
Blue  be  the  sky  and  soft  the  breeze,  15 

Earth  green  beneath  the  feet, 
And  be  the  damp  mould  gently  pressed 
Into  my  narrow  place  of  rest. 

There  through  the  long,  long  summer  hours, 

The  golden  light  should  lie,  20 

And  thick  young  herbs  and  groups  of  flowers 
Stand  in  their  beauty  by. 

The  oriole  should  build  and  tell 

His  love-tale  close  beside  my  cell ; 

The  idle  butterfly  25 

Should  rest  him  there,  and  there  be  heard 

The  housewife  bee  and  humming-bird. 

And  what  if  cheerful  shouts  at  noon 

Come,  from  the  village  sent, 
Or  songs  of  maids,  beneath  the  moon  30 

With  fairy  laughter  blent  ? 


66  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  what  if,  in  the  evening  light, 
Betrothed  lovers  walk  in  sight 

Of  my  low  monument  ? 

I  would  the  lovely  scene  around  35 

Might  know  no  sadder  sight  nor  sound. 

I  know,  I  know  I  should  not  see 

The  season's  glorious  show, 
Nor  would  its  brightness  shine  for  me, 

Nor  its  wild  music  flow;  40 

But  if,  around  my  place  of  sleep, 
The  friends  I  love  should  come  to  weep, 

They  might  not  haste  to  go. 
Soft  airs,  and  song,  and  light,  and  bloom, 
Should  keep  them  lingering  by  my  tomb.  45 

These  to  their  softened  hearts  should  bear 

The  thought  of  what  has  been, 
And  speak  of  one  who  cannot  share 

The  gladness  of  the  scene ; 

Whose  part,  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills  50 

The  °circuit  of  the  summer  hills, 

Is  —  that  his  grave  is  green  ; 
And  deeply  would  their  hearts  rejoice 
To  hear  again  his  living  voice. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS  67 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS 

THE   melancholy  days  are   come,  the   saddest   of   the 

year, 
Of  wailing  winds,  and  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown 

and  °sere. 
Heaped  in  the  toftows  of  the  grove,  the  autumn  leaves 

lie  dead; 
They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's 

tread ; 
The  robin  and  the  wren  are  flown,  and  from  the  shrubs 

the  jay,  5 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the 

gloomy  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  lately 

sprang  and  stood 

In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisterhood  ? 
Alas !    they  all  are  in  their  graves,  the  gentle  race  of 

flowers 
Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  good  of 

ours.  10 

The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold  November 

rain 
Calls  not  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones 

again. 


68  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  °wind-flower  and  the  violet,  they  perished  long  ago, 
And  the  brier-rose  and  the  orchis  died  amid  the  summer 

glow; 
But  on  the  hills  the  golden-rod,  and  the  aster  in  the 

wood,  15 

And  the  yellow  sun-flower  by  the  brook  in  autumn 

beauty  stood, 
Till  fell  the  frost  from  the  clear  cold  heaven,  as  falls  the 

plague  on  men, 
And  the  brightness  of  their  smile  was  gone,  from  °up- 

land,  °glade,  and  °glen. 

And  now,  when  comes  the  calm  mild  day,  as  still  such 

days  will  come, 
To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winter 

home ;  20 

When  the  sound  of  dropping  nuts  is  heard,  though  all 

the  trees  are  still, 

And  twinkle  in  the  °smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill, 
The  south  wind  searches  for  the  flowers  whose  fragrance 

late  he  bore, 
And  sighs  to  find  them  in  the  wood  and  by  the  stream 

no  more. 

°And  then  I  think  of  one  who  in  her  youthful  beauty 
died,  25 

The  fair  meek  blossom  that  grew  up  and  faded  by  my 
side. 

In  the  cold  moist  earth  we  laid  her,  when  the  forests 
cast  the  leaf, 


THE  AFRICAN  CHIEF  69 

And  we  wept  that  one  so  lovely  should  nave  a  life  so 

brief : 
Yet  not  °unmeet  it  was  that  one,  like  that  young  friend 

of  ours, 
So   gentle   and   so   beautiful,   should   perish   with   the 

flowers.  30 


THE  AFRICAN  CHIEF 

The  story  of  the  African  chief,  related  in  this  ballad,  may  be  found 
in  the  African  Repository  for  April,  1825.  The  subject  of  it  was  a 
warrior  of  majestic  stature,  the  brother  of  Yarradee,  king  of  the  So- 
lima  nation.  He  had  been  taken  in  battle,  and  brought  in  chains  for 
sale  to  the  Rio  Pongas,  where  he  was  exhibited  in  the  market-place, 
his  ankles  still  adorned  with  massy  rings  of  gold  which  he  wore  when 
captured.  The  refusal  of  his  captors  to  listen  to  his  offers  of  ransom 
drove  him  mad,  and  he  died  a  maniac.  — WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

CHAINED  in  the  market-place  he  stood, 

A  man  of  giant  frame, 
Amid  the  gathering  multitude 

That  shrunk  to  hear  his  name  — 
All  stern  of  look  and  strong  of  limb,  5 

His  dark  eye  on  the  ground :  — • 
And  silently  they  gazed  on  him, 

As  on  a  lion  bound. 

Vainly,  but  well  that  chief  had  fought, 

He  was  a  captive  now,  10 

Yet  pride,  that  fortune  humbles  not, 
Was  written  on  his  brow. 


70  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  scars  his  dark  broad  bosom  wore 
Showed  warrior  true  and  brave; 

A  prince  among  his  tribe  before,  15 

He  could  not  be  a  slave. 

Then  to  his  conqueror  he  spake: 

"  My  brother  is  a  king ; 
Undo  this  necklace  from  my  neck, 

And  take  this  bracelet  ring,  20 

And  send  me  where  my  brother  reigns, 

And  I  will  fill  thy  hands 
With  store  of  ivory  from  the  plains, 

And  gold-dust  from  the  sands.;; 

"  Not  for  thy  ivory  nor  thy  gold  25 

Will  I  unbind  thy  chain; 
That  bloody  hand  shall  never  hold 

The  battle-spear  again. 
A  price  thy  nation  never  gave 

Shall  yet  be  paid  for  thee;  30 

For  thou  shalt  be  the  Christian's  slave, 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea.;; 

Then  wept  the  warrior  chief,  and  bade 

To  shred  his  locks  away ; 
And  one  by  one,  each  heavy  braid  35 

Before  the  victor  lay. 
Thick  were  the  platted  locks,  and  long, 

And  closely  hidden  there 


THE  AFRICAN  CHIEF  71 

Shone  many  a  wedge  of  gold  among 

The  dark  and  crisped  hair.  40 

"  Look,  feast  thy  greedy  eye  with  gold 

Long  kept  for  sorest  need ; 
Take  it  —  thou  askest  sums  untold  — 

And  say  that  I  am  freed. 
Take  it  —  my  wife,  the  long,  long  day,  45 

Weeps  by  the  cocoa-tree, 
And  my  young  children  leave  their  play, 

And  ask  in  vain  for  me." 

"I  take  thy  gold,  —  but  I  have  made 

Thy  fetters  fast  and  strong,  50 

And  ween  that  by  the  cocoa-shade 

Thy  wife  will  wait  thee  long." 
Strong  was  the  agony  that  shook 

The  captive's  frame  to  hear, 
And  the  proud  meaning  of  his  look  55 

Was  changed  to  mortal  fear. 

His  heart  was  broken  —  crazed  his  brain : 

At  once  his  eye  grew  wild ; 
He  struggled  fiercely  with  his  chain, 

Whispered,  and  wept,  and  smiled;  60 

Yet  wore  not  long  those  fatal  bands, 

And  once,  at  shut  of  day, 
They  drew  him  forth  upon  the  sands, 

The  foul  hyena's  prey. 


72  EARLIER  POEMS 


A  MEDITATION  ON  RHODE-ISLAND  COAL 

Decolor,  obscuris,  vilis,  non  ille  repexam 
Cesariem  regum,  non  Candida  virginis  ornat 
Colla,  nee  insigni  splendet  per  cingula  morsu. 
Sed  nova  si  nigri  videas  miracula  saxi, 
Tune  superat  pulchros  cultus  et  quicquid  Eois 
Indus  litoribus  rubrd  scrutatur  in  alga. 

—  CLAUDIAN. 

I  SAT  beside  the  glowing  grate,  fresh  heaped 

With  Newport  coal,  and  as  the  flame  grew  bright 
-  The  many-colored  flame  —  and  played  and  leaped, 
I  thought  of  rainbows  and  the  northern  light, 

Moore's  °Lalla  Rookh,  the  Treasury  Report,  5 

And  other  brilliant  matters  of  the  sort. 

And  last  I  thought  of  that  fair  isle  which  sent 

The  mineral  fuel ;  on  a  summer  day 
I  saw  it  once,  with  heat  and  travel  spent, 

And  scratched  by  dwarf-oaks  in  the  hollow  way;      10 
Now  dragged  through  sand,  now  jolted  over  stone  — 
A  rugged  road  through  rugged  °Tiverton. 

And  hotter  grew  the  air,  and  hollower  grew 

The  deep-worn  path,  and  horror-struck,  I  thought, 

Where  will  this  dreary  passage  lead  me  to  ?  15 

This  long  dull  road,  so  narrow,  deep,  and  hot  ? 


A    MEDITATION  ON  RHODE-ISLAND   COAL  73 

I  looked  to  see  it  dive  in  earth  outright; 

I  looked  —  but  saw  a  far  more  welcome  sight. 

Like  a  soft  mist  upon  the  evening  shore, 

At  once  a  lovely  isle  before  me  lay,  20 

Smooth  and  with  tender  verdure  covered  o'er, 

As  if  just  risen  from  its  calm  inland  bay; 
Sloped  each  way  gently  to  the  grassy  edge, 
And  the  small  waves  that  dallied  with  the  sedge. 

The  barley  was  just  reaped  —  its  heavy  sheaves  25 

Lay  on  the  stubble  field  —  the  tall  maize  stood 

Dark  in  its  summer  growth,  and  shook  its  leaves  — 
And  bright  the  sunlight  played  on  the  young  wood  — 

For  fifty  years  ago,  the  old  men  say, 

The  Briton  hewed  their  ancient  groves  away.  30 

I  saw  where  fountains  freshened  the  green  land, 
And  where  the  pleasant  road,  from  door  to  door, 

With  rows  of  cherry-trees  on  either  hand, 
Went  wandering  all  that  fertile  region  o'er  — 

Rogue's    Island    once  —  but    when    the    rogues    were 
dead,  35 

Rhode  Island  was  the  name  it  took  instead. 

Beautiful  island  !  then  it  only  seemed 

A  lovely  stranger  —  it  has  grown  a  friend. 

I  gazed  on  its  smooth  slopes,  but  never  dreamed 

How  soon  that  bright  magnificent  isle  would  send     40 


74  EAELIEE  POEMS 

The  treasures  of  its  womb  across  the  sea, 
To  warm  a  poet's  room  and  boil  his  tea. 

Dark  anthracite  !  that  reddenest  on  my  hearth, 
Thou  in  those  island  mines  didst  slumber  long; 

But  now  thou  art  come  forth  to  move  the  earth,  45 

And  put  to  shame  the  men  that  mean  thee  wrong. 

Thou  shalt  be  coals  of  fire  to  those  that  hate  thee, 

And  warm  the  shins  of  all  that  underrate  thee. 

Yea,  they  did  wrong  thee  foully  —  they  who  mocked 
Thy  honest  face,  and  said  thou  wouldst  not  burn;     50 

Of  hewing  thee  to  chimney-pieces  talked, 

And  grew  profane  —  and  swore,  in  bitter  scorn, 

That  men  might  to  thy  inner  caves  retire, 

And  there,  unsinged,  abide  the  day  of  fire. 

Yet  is  thy  greatness  nigh.     I  pause  to  state,  55 

That  I  too  have  seen  greatness  —  even  I  — 

Shook  hands  with  Adams  —  stared  at  La  Fayette, 
When,  barehead,  in  the  hot  noon  of  July, 

He  would  not  let  the  umbrella  be  held  o'er  him, 

For  which  three  cheers  burst  from  the  mob  before  him.  60 

And  I  have  seen  —  not  many  months  ago  — 

An  eastern  Governor  in  °chapeau  bras 
And  military  coat,  a  glorious  show  ! 

Ride  forth  to  visit  the  reviews,  and  ah ! 
How  oft  he  smiled  and  bowed  to  Jonathan !  65 

How  many  hands  were  shook  and  votes  were  won ! 


A    MEDITATION  ON  RHODE-ISLAND   COAL  75 

'Twas  a  great  Governor  —  thou  too  shalt  be 
Great  in  thy  turn  —  and  wide  shall  spread  thy  fame, 

And  swiftly;  farthest  Maine  shall  hear  of  thee, 

And  cold  New  Brunswick  gladden  at  thy  name,         70 

And,  faintly  through  its  sleets,  the  weeping  isle 

That  sends  the  Boston  folks  their  cod  shall  smile. 

For  thou  shalt  forge  vast  railways,  and  shalt  heat 

The  hissing  rivers  into  steam,  and  drive 
Huge  masses  from  thy  mines,  on  iron  feet,  75 

Walking  their  steady  way,  as  if  alive, 
Northward,  till  everlasting  ice  besets  thee, 
And  south  as  far  as  the  grim  Spaniard  lets  thee. 

Thou  shalt  make  mighty  engines  swim  the  sea, 

Like  its  own  monsters  —  boats  that  for  a  guinea       80 

Will  take  a  man  to  °Havre  —  and  shalt  be 
The  moving  soul  of  many  a  °spinning- jenny, 

And  ply  thy  shuttles,  till  a  bard  can  wear 

As  good  a  suit  of  broadcloth  as  the  mayor. 

Then  we  will  laugh  at  winter  when  we  hear  85 

The  grim  old  churl  about  our  dwellings  rave : 

Thou,  from  that  °"  ruler  of  the  inverted  year," 
Shall  pluck  the  knotty  sceptre  Cowper  gave, 

And  pull  him  from  his  sledge,  and  drag  him  in, 

And  melt  the  icicles  from  off  his  chin.  90 


76  EARLIER  POEMS 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  LIFE 

BENEATH  the  waning  moon  I  walk  at  night, 
And  muse  on  human  life  —  for  all  around 

Are  dim  uncertain  shapes  that  cheat  the  sight, 
And  pitfalls  lurk  in  shade  along  the  ground, 

And  broken  gleams  of  brightness,  here  and  there,  5 

Glance  through,  and  leave  unwarmed  the  death-like  air. 

The  trampled  earth  returns  a  sound  of  fear  — 
A  hollow  sound,  as  if  I  walked  on  tombs ; 

And  lights,  that  tell  of  cheerful  homes,  appear 

Far  off,  and  die  like  hope  amid  the  glooms.  10 

A  mournful  wind  across  the  landscape  flies, 

And  the  wide  atmosphere  is  full  of  sighs. 

And  I,  with  faltering  footsteps,  journey  on, 
Watching  the  stars  that  roll  the  hours  away, 

Till  the  faint  light  that  guides  me  now  is  gone,  15 

And,  like  another  life,  the  glorious  day 

Shall  open  o'er  me  from  the  empyreal  height, 

With  warmth,  and  certainty,  and  boundless  light. 

THE  GLADNESS  OF  NATURE 

Is  this  a  time  to  be  cloudy  and  sad, 
When  our  mother  Nature  laughs  around ; 

When  even  the  deep  blue  heavens  look  glad, 

And  gladness  breathes  from  the  blossoming  ground  ? 


THE  GLADNESS   OF  NATURE  77 

There  are  notes  of  joy  from  the  °hang-bird  and  wren     5 
And  the  gossip  of  swallows  through  all  the  sky, 

The  ground-squirrel  gayly  chirps  by  his  den, 
And  the  °wilding  bee  hums  merrily  by. 

The  clouds  are  at  play  in  the  °azure  space, 

And  their  shadows  at  play  on  the  bright  green  vale,  10 

And  here  they  stretch  to  the  frolic  chase, 
And  there  they  roll  on  the  easy  gale. 

There's  a  dance  of  leaves  in  that  °aspen  bower, 
There's  a  titter  of  winds  in  that  beechen  tree, 

There's  a  smile  on  the  fruit,  and  a  smile  on  the  flower,  15 
And  a  laugh  from  the  brook  that  runs  to  the  sea. 

And  look  at  the  broad-faced  sun,  how  he  smiles 
On  the  dewy  earth  that  smiles  in  his  ray, 

On  the  leaping  waters  and  gay  young  isles  ; 

Ay,  look,  and  he'll  smile  thy  gloom  away.  20 


78  EARLIER  POEMS 


THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  JUPITER  AND  VENUS 

This  conjunction  was  said  in  the  common  calendars  to  have  taken 
place  on  the  2d  of  August,  1826.  This,  I  believe,  was  an  error,  but  the 
apparent  approach  of  the  planets  was  sufficiently  near  for  poetical 
purposes.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

I  WOULD  not  always  reason.     The  straight  path 
Wearies  us  with  its  never-varying  lines, 
And  we  grow  melancholy.     I  would  make 
Reason  my  guide,  but  she  should  sometimes  sit 
Patiently  by  the  way-side,  while  I  traced  5 

The  mazes  of  the  pleasant  wilderness 
Around  me.     She  should  be  my  counsellor, 
But  not  my  tyrant.     For  the  spirit  needs 
Impulses  from  a  deeper  source  than  hers, 
And  there  are  motions,  in  the  mind  of  man,  10 

That  she  must  look  upon  with  awe.     I  bow 
Reverently  to  her  dictates,  but  not  less 
Hold  to  the  fair  illusions  of  old  time  — 
Illusions  that  shed  brightness  over  life, 
And  glory  over  nature.     Look,  even  now,  15 

Where  two  bright  planets  in  the  twilight  meet, 
Upon  the  saffron  heaven,  —  the  imperial  star 
Of  Jove,  and  °she  that  from  her  radiant  urn 
Pours  forth  the  light  of  love.     Let  me  believe, 
Awhile,  that  they  are  met  for  ends  of  good,  20 


THE  CONJUNCTION  OF  JUPITER  AND    VENUS       79 

Amid  the  evening  glory,  to  confer 

Of  men  and  their  affairs,  and  to  shed  down 

Kind  influence.     Lo  !  they  brighten  as  we  gaze, 

And  shake  out  softer  fires  !    The  great  earth  feels 

The  gladness  and  the  quiet  of  the  time.  25 

Meekly  the  mighty  river,  that  infolds 

This  mighty  city, -smooths  his  front,  and  far 

Glitters  and  burns  even  to  the  rocky  base 

Of  the  dark  heights  that  bound  him  to  the  west; 

And  a  deep  murmur,  from  the  many  streets,  30 

Rises  like  a  thanksgiving.     Put  we  hence 

Dark  and  sad  thoughts  awhile  —  there's  time  for  them 

Hereafter  —  on  the  morrow  we  will  meet, 

With  melancholy  looks,  to  tell  our  griefs, 

And  make  each  other  wretched ;   this  calm  hour,  35 

This  balmy,  blessed  evening,  we  will  give 

To  cheerful  hopes  and  dreams  of  happy  days, 

Born  of  the  meeting  of  those  glorious  stars. 

Enough  of  drought  has  parched  the  year,  and  scared 
The  land  with  dread  of  famine.     Autumn,  yet,  40 

Shall  make  men  glad  with  unexpected  fruits. 
The  °dog-star  shall  shine  harmless :  genial  days 
Shall  softly  glide  away  into  the  keen 
And  wholesome  cold  of  winter;  he  that  fears 
The  pestilence,  shall  gaze  on  those  pure  beams,  45 

And  breathe,  with  confidence,  the  quiet  air. 

Emblems  of  power  and  beauty  !  well  may  they 
Shine  brightest  on  our  borders,  and  withdraw 


80  EARLIER  POEMS 

Towards  the  great  Pacific,  marking  out 

The  path  of  empire.     Thus,  in  our  own  land,  50 

Ere  long,  the  better  Genius  of  our  race, 

Having  encompassed  earth,  and  tamed  its  tribes, 

Shall  sit  him  down  beneath  the  farthest  west, 

By  the  shore  of  that  calm  ocean,  and  look  back 

On  realms  made  happy. 

Light  the  nuptial  torch,         55 
And  say  the  glad,  yet  solemn  rite,  that  knits 
The  youth  and  maiden.     Happy  days  to  them 
That  wed  this  evening  !  —  a  long  life  of  love, 
And  blooming  sons  and  daughters  !     °Happy  they 
Born  at  this  hour,  —  for  they  shall  see  an  age  60 

Whiter  and  holier  than  the  past,  and  go 
Late  to  their  graves.     Men  shall  wear  softer  hearts, 
And  shudder  at  the  butcheries  of  war, 
As  now  at  other  murders. 

°Hapless  Greece ! 

Enough  of  blood  has  wet  thy  rocks,  and  stained  65 

Thy  rivers ;  deep  enough  thy  chains  have  worn 
Their  links  into  thy  flesh ;   the  sacrifice 
Of  thy  pure  maidens,  and  thy  innocent  babes, 
And  reverend  priests,  has  expiated  all 
Thy  crimes  of  old.     In  yonder  mingling  lights  70 

There  is  an  omen  of  good  days  for  thee. 
Thou  shalt  arise  from  midst  the  dust  and  sit 
Again  among  the  nations.     Thine  own  arm 
Shall  yet  redeem  thee.     Not  in  wars  like  thine 


A  SUMMER  RAMBLE  81 

The  world  takes  part.     Be  it  a  strife  of  kings,  -  75 

Despot  with  despot  battling  for  a  throne,  - 

And  Europe  shall  be  stirred  throughout  her  realms, 

Nations  shall  put  on  harness,  and  shall  fall 

Upon  each  other,  and  in  all  their  bounds 

The  wailing  of  the  childless  shall  not  cease.  80 

Thine  is  a  warfor  liberty,  and  thou 

Must  fight  it  single-handed.     The  old  world 

Looks  coldly  on  the  murderers  of  thy  race, 

And  leaves  thee  to  the  struggle ;  and  the  new,  — 

I  fear  me  thou  couldst  tell  a  shameful  tale  85 

Of  fraud  and  lust  of  gain;  —  thy  treasury  drained, 

And  °Missolonghi  fallen.     Yet  thy  wrongs 

Shall  put  new  strength  into  thy  heart  and  hand, 

And  God  and  thy  good  sword  shall  yet  work  out, 

For  thee,  a  terrible  deliverance.  90 


A  SUMMER  RAMBLE 

THE  quiet  August  noon  has  come, 
A  slumberous  silence  fills  the  sky, 

The  fields  are  still,  the  woods  are  dumb, 
In  glassy  sleep  the  waters  lie. 

And  mark  yon  soft  white  clouds  that  rest 
Above  our  vale,  a  moveless  throng; 

The  cattle  on  the  mountain's  breast 
Enjoy  the  grateful  shadow  long. 


82  EARLIER  POEMS 

Oh,  how  unlike  those  merry  hours 

In  early  June  when  Earth  laughs  out,  10 

When  the  fresh  winds  make  love  to  flowers, 

And  woodlands  sing  and  waters  shout. 

When  in  the  grass  sweet  voices  talk, 

And  strains  of  tiny  music  swell 
From  every  moss-cup  of  the  rock,  15 

From  every  nameless  blossom's  bell. 

But  now  a  joy  too  deep  for  sound, 

A  peace  no  other  season  knows, 
Hushes  the  heavens  and  wraps  the  ground, 

The  blessing  of  supreme  repose.  20 

Away !  I  will  not  be,  to-day, 

The  only  slave  of  toil  and  care. 
Away  from  desk  and  dust !  away ! 

I'll  be  as  idle  as  the  air. 

Beneath  the  open  sky  abroad,  25 

Among  the  plants  and  breathing  things, 

The  sinless,  peaceful  works  of  God, 
I'll  share  the  calm  the  season  brings. 

°Come,  thou,  in  whose  soft  eyes  I  see 
The  gentle  meanings  of  thy  heart,  30 

One  day  amid  the  woods  with  me, 
From  men  and  all  their  cares  apart. 


A   SUMMER  RAMBLE  83 

And  where,  upon  the  meadow's  breast, 

The  shadow  of  the  thicket  lies, 
The  blue  wild  flowers  thou  gatherest  35 

Shall  glow  yet  deeper  near  thine  eyes. 

Come,  and  when  mid  the  calm  profound, 

I  turn^those  gentle  eyes  to  seek, 
They,  like  the  lovely  landscape  round, 

Of  innocence  and  peace  shall  speak.  40 

Rest  here,  beneath  the  unmoving  shade, 

And  on  the  silent  valleys  gaze, 
Winding  and  widening,  till  they  fade 

In  yon  soft  ring  of  summer  haze. 

The  village  trees  their  summits  rear  .  45 

Still  as  its  spire,  and  yonder  flock 
At  rest  in  those  calm  fields  appear 

As  chiselled  from  the  lifeless  rock. 

One  tranquil  mount  the  scene  overlooks  — 

There  the  hushed  winds  their  °sabbath  keep  50 

While  a  near  hum  from  bees  and  brooks 
Comes  faintly  like  the  breath  of  sleep. 

Well  may  the  gazer  °deem  that  when, 
Worn  with  the  struggle  and  the  strife, 

And  heart-sick  at  the  wrongs  of  men,  55 

The  good  forsakes  the  scene  of  life ; 


84  EARLIER  POEMS 

Like  this  deep  quiet  that,  awhile, 
Lingers  the  lovely  landscape  o'er, 

Shall  be  the  peace  whose  holy  smile 

Welcomes  him  to  a  happier  shore.  60 


A   SCENE   ON  THE   BANKS   OF   THE   HUDSON 

COOL  shades  and  dews  are  round  my  way, 

And  silence  of  the  early  day  ; 

Mid  the  dark  rocks  that  watch  his  bed, 

Glitters  the  mighty  Hudson  spread, 

Unrippled,  save  by  drops  that  fall  5 

From  shrubs  that  fringe  his  mountain  wall ; 

And  o'er  the  clear  still  water  swells 

The  music  of  the  sabbath  bells. 

All,  save  this  little  nook  of  land 

Circled  with  trees,  on  which  I  stand;  10 

All,  save  that  line  of  hills  which  lie 

°Suspended  in  the  mimic  sky  - 

Seems  a  blue  °void,  above,  below, 

Through  which  the  white  clouds  come  and  go, 

And  from  the  green  world's  farthest  steep  15 

I  gaze  into  the  airy  deep. 

Loveliest  of  lovely  things  are  they, 
On  earth,  that  soonest  pass  away. 


WILLIAM  TELL  85 

The  rose  that  lives  its  little  hour 

Is  prized  beyond  the  sculptured  flower.  20 

Even  love,  long  tried  and  cherished  long, 

Becomes  more  tender  and  more  strong, 

At  thought  of  that  °insatiate  grave 

From  which  its  yearnings  cannot  save. 

River  !  in  this  still  hour  thou  hast  25 

Too  much  of  heaven  on  earth  to  last ; 

Nor  long  may  thy  still  waters  lie, 

An  image  of  the  glorious  sky. 

Thy  fate  and  mine  are  not  repose, 

And  ere  another  evening  close,  30 

Thou  to  thy  tides  shalt  turn  again, 

And  I  to  seek  the  crowd  of  men. 


°WILLIAM  TELL 

CHAINS  may  subdue  the  feeble  spirit,  but  thee, 
TELL,  of  the  iron  heart !  they  could  not  tame  ! 
For  thou  wert  of  the  mountains;  they  proclaim 

The  everlasting  creed  of  liberty. 

That  creed  is  written  on  the  untrampled  snow,  5 

Thundered  by  torrents  which  no  power  can  hold, 
Save  that  of  God,  when  He  sends  forth  His  cold, 

And  breathed  by  winds  that  through  the  free  heaven  blow. 

Thou,  while  thy  prison-walls  were  dark  around, 

Didst  meditate  the  lesson  Nature  taught,  10 


86  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  to  thy  brief  captivity  was  brought 
A  vision  of  thy  Switzerland  unbound. 

The  bitter  cup  they  mingled,  strengthened  thee 
For  the  great  work  to  set  thy  country  free. 


THE  PAST 

THOU  unrelenting  Past ! 
Strong  are  the  barriers  round  thy  dark  domain, 

And  fetters,  sure  and  fast, 
Hold  all  that  enter  thy  unbreathing  reign. 


Far  in  thy  realm  withdrawn 
Old  empires  sit  in  sullenness  and  gloom, 

And  glorious  ages  gone 
Lie  deep  within  the  shadow  of  thy  womb. 


Childhood,  with  all  its  mirth, 
Youth,  Manhood,  Age,  that  draws  us  to  the  ground, 

And  last,  Man's  Life  on  earth, 
Glide  to  thy  dim  dominions,  and  are  bound. 


°Thou  hast  my  better  years, 
Thou  hast  my  earlier  friends  —  the  good  —  the  kind, 

Yielded  to  thee  with  tears  -  15 

The  venerable  form  —  the  exalted  mind, 


THE  PAST  87 

My  spirit  yearns  to  bring 
The  lost  ones  back  —  yearns  with  desire  intense, 

And  struggles  hard  to  wring 
Thy  bolts  apart,  and  pluck  thy  captives  thence.  20 

In  vain  —  thy  gates  deny 
All  passage  save  to  those  who  hence  depart; 

Nor  to  the  streaming  eye 
Thou  giv'st  them  back  —  nor  to  the  broken  heart. 

In  thy  °abysses  hide  25 

Beauty  and  excellence  unknown  —  to  thee 

Earth's  wonder  and  her  pride 
Are  gathered,  as  the  waters  to  the  sea; 

Labors  of  good  to  man, 
Unpublished  charity,  unbroken  faith,  —  30 

Love,  that  midst  grief  began, 
And  grew  with  years,  and  faltered  not  in  death. 

Full  many  a  mighty  name 
Lurks  in  thy  depths,  unuttered,  unrevered; 

With  thee  are  silent  fame,  35 

Forgotten  arts,  and  wisdom  disappeared. 

Thine  for  a  space  are  they  — 
Yet  shalt  thou  yield  thy  treasures  up  at  last; 

Thy  gates  shall  yet  give  way, 
Thy  bolts  shall  fall,  inexorable  Past !  4o 


88  EARLIER  POEMS 

All  that  of  good  and  fair 
Has  gone  into  thy  womb  from  earliest  time, 

Shall  then  come  forth  to  wear 
The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  its  prime. 

They  have  not  perished  —  no  !  45 

Kind  words,  remembered  voices  once  so  sweet, 

Smiles,  radiant  long  ago, 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat. 

All  shall  come  back,  each  tie 
Of  pure  affection  shall  be  knit  again;  50 

°Alone  shall  Evil  die, 
And  Sorrow  dwell  a  prisoner  in  thy  reign. 

And  then  shall  I  behold 
°Him,  by  whose  kind  paternal  side  I  sprung, 

And  °her,  who,  still  and  cold,  55 

Fills  the  next  grave  —  the  beautiful  and  young. 


THE  HUNTER'S  SERENADE 

THY  °bower  is  finished,  fairest ! 

Fit  bower  for  hunter's  bride  — 
Where  old  woods  overshadow 

The  green  °savanna's  side. 
I've  wandered  long,  and  wandered  far,          5 

And  never  have  I  met, 


THE  HUNTER'S  SERENADE  89 

In  all  this  lovely  western  land, 

A  spot  so  lovely  yet. 
But  I  shall  think  it  fairer, 

When  thou  art  come  to  bless,  10 

With  thy  sweet  .smile  and  silver  voice, 

Its  silent  loveliness. 

For  thee  the  wild  grape  glistens, 

On  sunny  knoll  and  tree, 
The  slim  °papaya  ripens  15 

Its  yellow  fruit  for  thee. 
For  thee  the  duck,  on  glassy  stream, 

The  prairie-fowl  shall  die, 
My  rifle  for  thy  feast  shall  bring 

The  wild  swan  from  the  sky.  20 

The  forest's  leaping  panther, 

Fierce,  beautiful,  and  fleet, 
Shall  yield  his  spotted  hide  to  be 

A  carpet  for  thy  feet. 

I  know,  for  thou  hast  told  me,  25 

Thy  maiden  love  of  flowers; 
Ah,  those  that  deck  thy  gardens 

Are  pale  compared  with  ours. 
When  our  wide  woods  and  mighty  lawns 

Bloom  to  the  April  skies,  30 

The  earth  has  no  more  gorgeous  sight 

To  show  to  human  eyes. 
In  meadows  red  with  blossoms, 

All  summer  long,  the  bee 


90  EARLIER  POEMS 

Murmurs,  and  loads  his  yellow  thighs,          35 
For  thee,  my  love,  and  me. 

Or  wouldst  thou  gaze  at  tokens 

Of  ages  long  ago  : — 
Our  old  oaks  stream  with  mosses, 

And  sprout  with  mistletoe ;  4o 

And  mighty  vines,  like  serpents,  climb 

The  giant  sycamore ; 
And  trunks,  overthrown  for  centuries, 

Cumber  the  forest  floor; 
And  in  the  great  savanna,  45 

°The  solitary  mound, 
Built  by  the  elder  world,  overlooks 

The  loneliness  around. 


Come,  thou  hast  not  forgotten 

Thy  pledge  and  promise  quite,  50 

With  many  blushes  murmured, 

Beneath  the  evening  light. 
Come,  the  young  violets  crowd  my  door, 

Thy  earliest  look  to  win, 
And  at  my  silent  window-sill  55 

The  jessamine  peeps  in. 
All  day  the  red-bird  warbles, 

Upon  the  mulberry  near, 
And  the  night-sparrow  trills  her  song, 

All  night,  with  none  to  hear,  60 


TO   THE  EVENING    WIND  91 


TO  THE  EVENING  WIND 

If  there  be  anything  within  the,  whole  compass  of  literature  more 
delicate,  more  pure,  more  exquisitely  sweet  than  this,  it  has  not  fallen 
under  our  observation.  —  North  American  Review  for  April,  1832. 

SPIRIT  that  breathest  through  my  lattice,  thou 
That  cool'st  the  twilight  of  the  sultry  day, 

Gratefully  flows  thy  freshness  round  my  brow : 
Thou  hast  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play, 

Riding  all  day  the  wild  blue  waves  till  now,  5 

Roughening  their  crests,  and  scattering  high  their  spray 

And  swelling  the  white  sail.     I  welcome  thee 

To  the  scorched  land,  thou  wanderer  of  the  sea ! 

Nor  I  alone  —  a  thousand  bosoms  round 

Inhale  thee  in  the  fulness  of  delight;  '  10 

And  languid  forms  rise  up,  and  pulses  bound 

Livelier,  at  coming  of  the  wind  of  night ; 
And,  languishing  to  hear  thy  grateful  sound, 

Lies  the  vast  inland  stretched  beyond  the  sight. 
Go  forth  into  the  gathering  shade;  go  forth,  15 

God's  blessing  breathed  upon  the  fainting  earth ! 

Go,  rock  the  little  wood-bird  in  his  nest, 

Curl  the  still  waters,  bright  with  stars,  and  rouse 

The  wide  old  wood  from  his  majestic  rest, 

Summoning  from  the  innumerable  boughs  20 

The  strange,  deep  harmonies  that  haunt  his  breast : 
Pleasant  shall  be  thy  way  where  meekly  bows 


92  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  shutting  flower,  and  darkling  waters  pass, 

And  where  the  overshadowing  branches  sweep  the  grass. 

The  faint  old  man  shall  lean  his  silver  head  25 

To  feel  thee;  thou  shalt  kiss  the  child  asleep, 

And  dry  the  moistened  curls  that  overspread 

His  temples,  while  his  breathing  grows  more  deep : 

And  they  who  stand  about  the  sick  man's  bed, 

Shall  joy  to  listen  to  thy  distant  sweep,  30 

And  softly  part  his  curtains  to  allow 

Thy  visit,  grateful  to  his  burning  brow. 

Go  —  but  the  circle  of  eternal  change, 
Which  is  the  life  of  nature,  shall  restore, 

With  sounds  and  scents  from  all  thy  mighty  range        35 
Thee  to  thy  birthplace  of  the  deep  once  more; 

Sweet  odors  in  the  sea-air,  sweet  and  strange, 
Shall  tell  the  home-sick  mariner  of  the  shore; 

And,  listening  to  thy  murmur,  he  shall  deem 

He  hears  the  rustling  leaf  and  running  stream.  40 


"INNOCENT   CHILD   AND   SNOW-WHITE 
FLOWER  " 

INNOCENT  child  and  snow-white  flower ! 
Well  are  ye  paired  in  your  opening  hour. 
Thus  should  the  pure  and  the  lovely  meet, 
Stainless  with  stainless,  and  sweet  with  sweet. 


TO   THE  FRINGED   GENTIAN  93 

White  as  those  leaves,  just  blown  apart,  5 

Are  the  folds  of  thy  own  young  heart; 
Guilty  passion  and  cankering  care 
Never  have  left  their  traces  there. 


Artless  one  Uthough  thou  gazest  now 

O'er  the  white  blossom  with  earnest  brow,          ic 

Soon  will  it  tire  thy  childish  eye, 

Fair  as  it  is,  thou  wilt  throw  it  by. 

Throw  it  aside  in  thy  weary  hour, 

Throw  to  the  ground  the  fair  white  flower, 

Yet,  as  thy  tender  years  depart,  15 

Keep  that  white  and  innocent  heart. 


TO  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN 

THOU  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night. 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 

O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 

Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 

Nod  o'er  the  °ground-bird's  hidden  nest. 


91  EARLIER  POEMS 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown,       10 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  °portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 

Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 

°Blue  —  blue  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall  15 

A  flower  from  its  °cerulean  wall. 


I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 


°THE  TWENTY-SECOND  OF  DECEMBER 

WILD  was  the  day;  the  wintry  sea 

Moaned  sadly  on  New- England's  strand, 

When  first  the  thoughtful  and  the  free, 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land. 

They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light,  5 

With  years,  should  gather  round  that  day  ; 

How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright, 
How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway. 


SONG   OF  MARION'S  MEN  95 

Green  are  their  °bays;  but  greener  still 

Shall  round  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed,   10 

And  regions,  now  untrod,  shall  thrill 

With  reverence  when  their  names  are  breathed. 

Till  where  the  -sun,  with  softer  fires, 

Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  pilgrim  sires  15 

This  hallowed  day  like  us  shall  keep,, 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN 

The  "Song  of  Marion's  Men"  is  a  beautiful  ballad  with  much  the 
grace  of  Campbell  and  the  vigor  of  Allen  Cunningham.  The  exploits 
of  General  Francis  Marion,  the  famous  partisan  warrior  of  South 
Carolina,  forms  an  interesting  chapter  in  the  annals  of  the  American 
Revolution.  —  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH. 

OUR  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold; 
°The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood,  5 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass,  10 

Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 


96  EARLIER  POEMS 

°Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight  15 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear : 
When  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again;  20 

And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release  25 

From  danger  and  from  toil : 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  °up,  30 

And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly  35 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads  — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds.  40 


SONG   OF  MARION'S  MEN  97 

Tis  life  to  guide  the  fiery  °barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain; 
;Tis  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp  —  45 

A  moment  —  and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  °Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs,  50 

Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer,  55 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

For  ever,  from  our  shore.  60 


98  EARLIEE  POEMS 


THE  PRAIRIES 

THESE  are  the  gardens  of  the  °Desert,  these 
The  unshorn  fields,  boundless  and  beautiful, 
For  which  the  speech  of  England  has  no  name  — 
The  Prairies.     °I  behold  them  for  the  first, 
And  my  heart  swells,  while  the  dilated  sight  s 

Takes  in  the  encircling  vastness.     Lo  !  they  stretch 
In  airy  °undulations  far  away, 
°As  if  the  ocean,  in  his  gentlest  swell, 
Stood  still,  with  all  his  rounded  billows  fixed, 
And  motionless  for  ever.  —  Motionless  ?  —  10 

No  —  they  are  all  unchained  again.     The  clouds 
Sweep  over  with  their  shadows,  and,  beneath, 
°The  surface  rolls  and  fluctuates  to  the  eye ; 
Dark  hollows  seem  to  glide  along  and  chase 
The  sunny  ridges.     Breezes  of  the  South !  15 

Who  toss  the  golden  and  the  flame-like  flowers, 
And  pass  °the  prairie-hawk  that,  poised  on  high, 
Flaps  his  broad  wings,  yet  moves  not —  ye  have  played 
Among  the  palms  of  Mexico  and  vines 
Of  Texas,  and  have  °crisped  the  °limpid  brooks  20 

That  from  the  fountains  of  °Sonora  glide 
Into  the  calm  Pacific  —  have  ye  fanned 
A  nobler  or  a  lovelier  scene  than  this  ? 
Man  hath  no  part  in  all  this  glorious  work ; 


THE  PRAIRIES  99 

The  hand  that  built  the  firmament  hath  heaved  •  25 

And  smoothed  these  verdant   swells,   and    sown  their 

slopes 

With  herbage,  planted  them  with  island  groves, 
And  hedged  them  round  with  forests.     Fitting  floor 
For  this  magnificent  temple  of  the  sky  - 
With  flowers  whose  glory  and  whose  multitude  30 

Rival  the  Constellations  !     The  great  heavens 
Seem  to  stoop  down  upon  the  scene  in  love,  — 
A  nearer  vault,  and  of  a  tenderer  blue, 
Than  that  which  bends  above  the  eastern  hills. 

As  o'er  the  verdant  waste  I  guide  my  steed,  35 

Among  the  high  rank  grass  that  sweeps  his  sides 
The  hollow  beating  of  his  footsteps  seems 
A  °sacrilegious  sound.     I  think  of  those 
Upon  whose  rest  he  tramples.     Are  they  here  — 
The  dead  of  other  days  ?  —  and  did  the  dust  40 

Of  these  fair  solitudes  once  stir  with  life 
And  burn  with  passion  ?     Let  the  mighty  mounds 
That  overlook  the  rivers,  or  that  rise 
In  the  dim  forest  crowded  with  old  oaks, 
Answer.     °A  race,  that  long  has  passed  away,  45 

Built  them ;  —  a  disciplined  and  populous  race 
Heaped,  with  long  toil,  the  earth,  while  yet  the  Greek 
Was  hewing  the  °Pentelicus  to  forms 
Of  symmetry,  and  rearing  on  its  rock 
The  glittering  °Parthenon.     These  ample  fields  50 

Nourished  their  harvests,  here  their  herds  were  fed, 
When  haply  by  their  stalls  the  bison  lowed, 


100  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  bowed  his  maned  shoulder  to  the  yoke. 

All  day  this  desert  murmured  with  their  toils, 

Till  twilight  blushed,  and  lovers  walked,  and  wooed       55 

In  a  forgotten  language,  and  old  tunes, 

From  instruments  of  unremembered  form,  \ 

Gave  the  soft  winds  a  voice.     The  red  man  came  —  1 

The  roaming  hunter  tribes,  warlike  and  fierce, 

And  the  mound-builders  vanished  from  the  earth.        60 

The  solitude  of  centuries  untold 

Has  settled  where  they  dwelt.     The  prairie-wolf 

Hunts  in  their  meadows,  and  his  fresh-dug  den 

Yawns  by  my  path.     The  gopher  mines  the  ground 

Where  stood  their  swarming  cities.     All  is  gone  —        65 

All  —  save  the  piles  of  earth  that  hold  their  bones  — 

The  platforms  where  they  worshipped  unknown  gods  — 

The  barriers  which  they  builded  from  the  soil 

To  keep  the  foe  at  bay  —  till  o'er  the  walls 

The  wild  °beleaguerers  broke,  and,  one  by  one,  70 

The  strongholds  of  the  plain  were  °forced,  and  heaped 

With  corpses.     The  brown  vultures  of  the  wood 

Flocked  to  those  vast  uncovered  sepulchres, 

And  sat,  unscared  and  silent,  at  their  feast. 

Haply  some  solitary  fugitive,  75 

Lurking  in  marsh  and  forest,  till  the  sense 

Of  desolation  and  of  fear  became 

Bitterer  than  death,  yielded  himself  to  die. 

Man's  better  nature  triumphed  then.     Kind  words 

Welcomed  and  soothed  him;   °the  rude  conquerors       80 

Seated  the  captive  with  their  chiefs ;  he  chose 

A  bride  among  their  maidens,  and  at  length 


THE  PRAIRIES  101 

Seemed  to  forget,  —  yet  ne'er  forgot,  —  the  wife 
Of  his  first  love,  and  her  sweet  little  ones, 
Butchered,  amid  their  shrieks,  with  all  his  race.         85 

Thus  change  the  forms  of  being.     Thus  arise 
Races  of  living  things,  glorious  in  strength, 
And  perish,  as  the  quickening  breath  of  God 
Fills  them,  or  is  withdrawn.     The  red  man,  too, 
Has  left  the  blooming  wilds  he  ranged  so  long,  90 

And,  nearer  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  sought 
A  wilder  hunting-ground.     The  beaver  builds 
No  longer  by  these  streams,  but  far  away, 
On  waters  whose  blue  surface  ne'er  °gave  back 
The  white  man's  face  —  among  °Missouri's  springs,  95 
And  pools  whose  °issues  swell  the  °0regon, 
°He  rears  his  little  Venice.     In  these  plains 
The  bison  feeds  no  more.     Twice  twenty  leagues 
Beyond  remotest  smoke  of  huhte  Vca'mp, 
Roams  the  majestic  brute,  in  herds  that  shake         TOO 
The  earth  with  thundering  steps  —  yet'^e're  I  meec 
His  ancient  footprints  stamped  besMe  the  pool. 

Still  this  great  solitude  is  quick  with  life. 
Myriads  of  insects,  gaudy  as  the  flowers 
They  flutter  over,  gentle  quadrupeds,  105 

And  birds,  that  scarce  have  learned  the  fear  of  man, 
Are  here,  and  sliding  reptiles  of  the  ground, 
Startlingly  beautiful.     The  graceful  deer 
Bounds  to  the  wood  at  my*  approach.     The  bee, 
A  more  adventurous  colonist  than  man,  no 


102  EARLIER  POEMS 

With  whom  he  came  across  the  eastern  deep, 

Fills  the  °savannas  with  his  murmurings, 

And  hides  his  sweets,  as  in  the  golden  age, 

Within  the  hollow  oak-.     I  listen  long 

To  his  domestic  hum,  and  think  I  hear  115 

The  sound  of  that  advancing  multitude 

Which  soon  shall  fill  these  deserts.     From  the  ground 

Comes  up  the  laugh  of  children,  the  soft  voice 

Of  maidens,  and  the  sweet  and  solemn  hymn 

Of  Sabbath  worshippers.     The  low  of  herds  120 

Blends  with  the  rustling  of  the  heavy  grain 

Over  the  dark-brown  furrows.     All  at  once 

A  fresher  wind  sweeps  by,  and  breaks  my  dream, 

And  I  am  in  the  wilderness  alone. 


,    THE  .HUNTER  OF  THE  PRAIRIES 

Bryant's  song  of  "  The  Hunter  of  the  Prairies  "  is  one  of  those  bold, 
free  bursts  that  ic  stir*  to  find  its  echo  in  the  deep,  green  woods  and  on 
the  oce'an  plains.  —  LITTELL'S  Living  Age  for  May,  1859. 

AY,  this  is  freedom !  —  these  pure  skies 

Were  never  stained  with  village  smoke : 
The  fragrant  wind,  that  through  .them  flies, 

Is  breathed  from  wastes  by  plough  unbroke. 
Here,  with  my  rifle  and  my  steed,  5 

And  her  who  left  the  world  for  me, 
I  plant  me,  where  the  red  deer  feed 

In  the  green  desert  —  and  am  free. 


THE  HUNTER  OF  THE  PRAIRIES  103 

For  here  the  fair  °savannas  know 

No  barriers  in  the  bloomy  grass;  10 

Wherever  breeze  of  heaven  may  blow, 

Or  beam  of  heaven  may  glance,  I  pass. 
In  pastures,  measureless  as  air, 

The  bison  is  my  noble  game ; 
The  bounding  elk,  whose  antlers  tear  15 

The  branches,  falls  before  my  aim. 

Mine  are  the  river-fowl  that  scream 

From  the  long  stripe  of  waving  sedge ; 
The  bear  that  marks  my  weapon's  gleam, 

Hides  vainly  in  the  forest's  edge;  20 

In  vain  the  she-wolf  stands  at  bay ; 

The  °brinded  °catamount,  that  lies 
High  in  the  boughs  to  watch  his  prey, 

Even  in  the  act  of  springing,  dies. 

With  what  free  growth  the  elm  and  °plane         25 

Fling  their  huge  arms  across  my  way, 
Gray,  old,  and  °cumbered  with  a  train 

Of  vines,  as  huge,  and  old,  and  gray ! 
Free  stray  the  lucid  streams,  and  find 

No  taint  in  these  fresh  lawns  and  shades;        30 
Free  spring  the  flowers  that  scent  the  wind 

Where  never  scythe  has  swept  the  glades. 

Alone  the  °Fire,  when  frost-winds  °sere 

The  heavy  herbage  of  the  ground, 
Gathers  his  annual  harvest  here,  35 

With  roaring  like  the  battle's  sound, 


104  EARLIER  POEMS 

And  hurrying  flames  that  sweep  the  plain, 
And  smoke-streams  gushing  up  the  sky : 

°I  meet  the  flames  with  flames  again, 

And  at  my  door  they  cower  and  die.  40 

Here,  from  dim  woods,  the  aged  past 

Speaks  solemnly;   and  I  behold 
The  boundless  future  in  the  vast 

And  lonely  river,  seaward  rolled. 
Who  feeds  its  founts  with  rain  and  dew  ?  45 

Who  moves,  I  ask,  its  gliding  mass, 
And  trains  the  bordering  vines,  whose  blue 

Bright  clusters  tempt  me  as  I  pass  ? 

Broad  are  these  streams  —  my  steed  obeys, 

Plunges,  and  bears  me  through  the  tide.          50 
Wide  are  these  woods  —  I  thread  the  °maze 

Of  giant  stems,  nor  ask  a  guide. 
I  hunt  till  day's  last  glimmer  dies 

O'er  woody  vale  and  grassy  height; 
And  kind  the  voice  and  glad  the  eyes  55 

That  welcome  my  return  at  night. 


SEVENTY-SIX  105 


0  SEVENTY-SIX 

There  is  martial  music  in  the  very  measure  of  the  following  verses, 
as  there  is  a  gallant  indication  in  their  title  of  "  Seventy -six.1'  — 
American  Quarterly  Review  for  December,  1836. 

WHAT  heroes  from  the  woodland  sprung, 
When,  through  the  fresh-awakened  land, 

The  thrilling  cry  of  freedom  rung, 

And  to  the  work  of  warfare  strung 

The  °yeoman's  iron  hand  !  5 

Hills  flung  the  cry  to  hills  around. 

And  °ocean-mart  replied  to  mart, 
And  streams,  whose  springs  were  yet  unfound, 
Pealed  far  away  the  startling  sound 

Into  the  forest's  heart.  10 

Then  marched  the  brave  from  rocky  sleep, 

From  mountain  river  swift  and  cold ; 
The  borders  of  the  stormy  deep, 
The  vales  where  gathered  waters  sleep, 

Sent  up  the  strong  and  bold,  —  15 

As  if  the  very  earth  again 

Grew  quick  with  God's  creating  breath, 
And,  from  the  sods  of  grave  and  glen, 
Rose  ranks  of  lion-hearted  men 

To  battle  to  the  death.  20 


106  EARLIER  POEMS 

The  wife  whose  babe  first  smiled  that  day, 

The  fair  fond  bride  of  yestereve, 
And  aged  sire  and  matron  gray, 
Saw  the  loved  warriors  haste  away, 
And  deemed  it  sin  to  grieve. 

°Already  had  the  strife  begun; 

Already  blood  on  °Concord's  plain 
Along  the  springing  grass  had  run, 
And  blood  had  flowed  at  °Lexington, 

Like  brooks  of  April  rain. 

That  death-stain  on  the  °vernal  sward 
Hallowed  to  freedom  all  the  shore; 

In  fragments  fell  the  yoke  abhorred  — 

The  footstep  of  a  foreign  lord 
Profaned  the  soil  no  more. 


°TO  THE  APENNINES 

YOUR  peaks  are  beautiful,  ye  Apennines ! 

In  the  soft  light  of  these  serenest  skies; 
From  the  broad  highland  region,  black  with  pines, 

Fair  as  the  hills  of  Paradise  they,  rise, 
Bathed  in  the  tint  °Peruvian  slaves  behold 
In  rosy  flushes  on  the  °virgin  gold. 

There,  rooted  to  the  °aerial  shelves  that  wear 
The  glory  of  a  brighter  world,  might  spring 


TO    THE  APENNINES  107 

Sweet  flowers  of  heaven  to  scent  the  unbreathed  air, 

And  heaven's  fleet  messengers  might  rest  the  wing,   10 
To  view  the  fair  earth  in  its  summer  sleep, 
Silent,  and  cradled  by  the  glimmering  deep. 

Below  you  lie  men's  sepulchres,  the  old 
°Etrurian  tombs,  the  graves  of  yesterday ; 

The  herd's  white  bones  lie  mixed  with  human  mould —  15 
Yet  up  the  radiant  steeps  that  I  survey 

Death  never  climbed,  nor  life's  soft  breath,  with  pain, 

Was  yielded  to  the  elements  again. 

Ages  of  war  have  filled  these  plains  with  fear ; 

How  oft  the  °hind  has  started  at  the  clash  20 

Of  spears,  and  yell  of  meeting  armies  here, 

Or  seen  the  lightning  of  the  battle  flash 
From  clouds,  that  rising  with  the  thunder's  sound, 
Hung  like  an  earth-born  tempest  o'er  the  ground ! 

Ah  me  !  what  armed  nations  —  ° Asian  horde,  25 

And  °Libyan  host  —  the  °Scythian  and  the  °Gaul, 

Have  swept  your  base  and  through  your  passes  poured, 
Like  ocean-tides  uprising  at  the  call 

Of  tyrant  winds  —  against  your  rocky  side 

The  bloody  billows  dashed,  and  howled,  and  died.         30 

How  crashed  the  towers  before  °beleaguering  foes, 
Sacked  cities  smoked  and  realms  were  rent  in  twain; 

And  commonwealths  against  their  rivals  rose, 

Trode  out  their  lives  and  earned  °the  curse  of  Cain ! 


108  EARLIER  POEMS 

While  in  the  noiseless  air  and  light  that  flowed  35 

Round  your  far  brows,  eternal  Peace  abode. 

Here  pealed  the  impious  hymn,  and  altar  flames 
Rose  to  false  gods,  a  dream-begotten  throng, 

°Jove,  °Bacchus,  °Pan,  and  earlier,  fouler  names; 
While,  as  the  unheeding  ages  passed  along,  4o 

Ye,  from  your  station  in  the  °middle  skies, 

Proclaimed  the  essential  Goodness,  strong  and  wise. 

In  you  the  heart  that  sighs  for  freedom  seeks 
Her  image;  there  the  winds  no  barrier  know, 

Clouds  come  and  rest  and  leave  your  fairy  peaks ;         45 
While  even  the  immaterial  Mind,  below, 

And  Thought,  her  winged  offspring,  chained  by  power, 

Pine  silently  for  the  redeeming  hour. 


THE  GREEN  MOUNTAIN  BOYS 

This  song  refers  to  the  expedition  of  the  Vermonters,  commanded  by 
Ethan  Allen,  by  whom  the  British  fort  of  Ticonderoga,  on  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  was  surprised  and  taken,  in  May,  1775.  —WILLIAM  CULLEN 
BRYANT. 


HERE  we  halt  our  march,  and  pitch  our  tent, 

On  the  rugged  forest  ground, 
And  light  our  fire  with  the  branches  rent, 

By  winds  from  the  beeches  round. 


THE   GREEN  MOUNTAIN  BOYS  109 

Wild  storms  have  torn  this  ancient  wood,  5 

But  a  wilder  is  at  hand, 
With  hail  of  iron  and  rain  of  blood, 

To  sweep  and  scath(e)  the  land. 

ii 

How  the  dark  waste  rings  with  voices  shrill, 

That  startle  the  sleeping  bird,  10 

To-morrow  eve  must  the  voice  be  still, 

And  the  step  must  fall  unheard. 
The  Briton  lies  by  the  blue  Champlain, 

In  Ticonderoga's  towers, 
And  ere  the  sun  rise  twice  again,  15 

The  towers  and  the  lake  are  ours. 


in 

Fill  up  the  bowl  from  the  brook  that  glides, 

Where  the  fireflies  light  the  brake; 
A  ruddier  juice  the  Briton  hides, 

In  his  fortress  by  the  lake.  20 

Build  high  the  fire,  till  the  panther  leap 

From  his  lofty  perch  in  fright. 
And  we'll  strengthen  our  weary  arms  with  sleep, 

For  the  deeds  of  to-morrow  night. 


110  EARLIER  POEMS 


°CATTERSKILL  FALLS 

MIDST  greens  and  shades  the  Catterskill  leaps, 
From  cliffs  where  the  wood-flower  clings ; 

All  summer  he  moistens  his  verdant  steeps 

With  the  sweet  light  spray  of  the  mountain  springs; 

And  he  shakes  the  woods  on  the  mountain  side,  5 

When  they  drip  with  the  rains  of  autumn-tide. 

But  when,  in  the  forest  bare  and  old, 

The  blast  of  December  calls, 
He  builds,  in  the  starlight  clear  and  cold, 

A  palace  of  ice  where  his  torrent  falls,  10 

With  turret,  and  arch,  and  fretwork  fair, 
And  pillars  blue  as  the  summer  air. 

For  whom  are  those  glorious  chambers  wrought, 

In  the  cold  and  cloudless  night  ? 
Is  there  neither  spirit  nor  motion  of  thought  15 

In  forms  so  lovely,  and  hues  so  bright  ? 
Hear  what  the  gray-haired  woodmen  tell 
Of  this  wild  stream  and  its  rocky  dell.  , 

;Twas  hither  a  youth  of  dreamy  mood, 

A  hundred  winters  ago,  20 

Had  wandered  over  the  mighty  wood, 

When  the  panther's  track  was  fresh  on  the  snow, 


CATTERSKILL  FALLS  111 

And  keen  were  the  winds  that  came  to  stir 
The  long  dark  boughs  of  the  hemlock  fir. 

Too  gentle  of  °mien  he  seemed  and  fair,  25 

For  a  child  of  those  rugged  steeps; 
His  home  lay  low  in  the  valley  where 

The  kingly  Hudson  rolls  to  the  deeps; 
But  he  wore  the  hunter's  frock  that  day, 
And  a  slender  gun  on  his  shoulder  lay.  30 

And  here  he  paused,  and  against  the  trunk 

Of  a  tall  gray  °linden  leant, 
When  the  broad  clear  orb  of  the  sun  had  sunk 

From  his  path  in  the  frosty  firmament, 
And  over  the  round  dark  edge  of  the  hill  35 

A  cold  green  light  was  quivering  still. 

And  the  °crescent  moon,  high  over  the  green, 

From  a  sky  of  crimson  shone, 
On  that  icy  palace,  whose  towers  were  seen 

To  sparkle  as  if  with  stars  of  their  own;          40 
While  the  water  fell  with  a  hollow  sound, 
'Twixt  the  glistening  pillars  ranged  around. 

Is  that  a  being  of  life,  that  moves 
Where  the  crystal  battlements  rise  ? 

A  maiden  watching  the  moon  she  loves,  45 

At  the  twilight  hour,  with  °pensive  eyes  ? 


112  EARLIER  POEMS 

Was  that  a  garment  which  seemed  to  gleam 
Betwixt  the  eye  and  the  falling  stream  ? 

;Tis  only  the  torrent  tumbling  o'er, 

In  the  midst  of  those  glassy  walls,  50 

Gushing,  and  plunging,  and  beating  the  floor 

Of  the  rocky  basin  in  which  it  falls. 
'Tis  only  the  torrent  —  but  why  that  start  ? 
Why  gazes  the  youth  with  a  throbbing  heart  ? 

He  thinks.no  more  of  his  home  afar,  55 

Where  his  sire  and  sister  wait. 
He  heeds  no  longer  how  star  after  star 

Looks  forth  on  the  night  as  the  hour  grows  late. 
He  heeds  not  the  snow-wreaths,  lifted  and  cast 
From  a  thousand  boughs,  by  the  rising  blast.         60 

His  thoughts  are  alone  of  those  who  dwell 

In  the  halls  of  frost  and  snow, 
Who  pass  where  the  crystal  domes  upswell 

From  the  °alabaster  floors  below, 
Where  the  frost-trees  shoot  with  leaf  and  spray,     65 
And  frost-gems  scatter  a  silvery  day. 

"And  oh  that  those  glorious  haunts  were  mine !" 
He  speaks,  and  throughout  the  glen 

Thin  shadows  swim  in  the  faint  moonshine, 

And  take  a  ghastly  likeness  of  men,  7° 

As  if  the  slain  by  the  wintry  storms 

Came  forth  to  the  air  in  their  earthly  forms. 


CATTERSKILL  FALLS  113 

There  pass  the  chasers  of  seal  and  whale, 

With  their  weapons  °quaint  and  grim, 
And  bands  of  warriors  in  glittering  °mail,  75 

And  herdsmen  and  hunters  huge  of  limb. 
There  are  naked  arms,  with  bow  and  spear, 
And  furry  gauntlets  the  °carbine  rear. 

There  are  mothers  —  and  oh  how  sadly  their  eyes 

On  their  children's  white  brows  rest !  80 

There  are  youthful  lovers  —  the  maiden  lies, 
In  a  seeming  sleep,  on  the  chosen  breast ; 

There  are  fair  wan  women  with  moonstruck  air, 

The  snow  stars  flecking  their  long  loose  hair. 

They  eye  him  not  as  they  pass  along,  £5 

But  his  hair  stands  up  with  dread, 
When  he  feels  that  he  moves  with  that  °phantom  throng, 

Till  those  icy  turrets  are  over  his  head, 
And  the  torrent's  roar  as  they  enter  seems 
Like  a  drowsy  murmur  heard  in  dreams.  90 

The  glittering  threshold  is  scarcely  passed, 
When  there  gathers  and  wraps  him  round 

A  thick  white  twilight,  sullen  and  vast, 
In  which  there  is  neither  form  nor  sound ; 

The  °phantoms,  the  glory,  vanish  all,  95 

With  the  dying  voice  of  the  waterfall. 

Slow  passes  the  darkness  of  that  trance, 
And  the  youth  now  faintly  sees 


114  EARLIER  POEMS 

Huge  shadows  and  gushes  of  light  that  dance 

On  a  rugged  ceiling  of  unhewn  trees,  100 

And  walls  where  the  skins  of  beasts  are  hung, 
And  rifles  glitter  on  antlers  strung. 

On  a  couch  of  shaggy  skins  he  lies; 

As  he  strives  to  raise  his  head, 
Hard-featured  woodmen,  with  kindly  eyes,  105 

Come  round  him  and  smooth  his  furry  bed, 
And  bid  him  rest,  for  the  evening  star 
Is  scarcely  set  and  the  day  is  far. 

They  had  found  at  eve  the  dreaming  one 

By  the  base  of  that  icy  steep,  no 

When  over  his  stiffening  limbs  begun 
The  deadly  slumber  of  frost  to  creep, 

And  they  cherished  the  pale  and  breathless  form, 

Till  the  °stagnant  blood  ran  free  and  warm. 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD  115 


THE   BATTLE-FIELD 

How  like  a  pxan  after  a  glorious  victory  do  the  ideas  and  cadences 
of  that  noble  song,  "  The  Battle-field,"  strike  on  the  ear  and  thrill  the 
soul!  It  is  the  jubilate  of  joy  and  hope,  accompanied  by  the  spirit- 
stirring  notes  of  a  whole  orchestra.  How  sweet  its  tones,  how  noble  its 
sentiments,  how  grand  its  thoughts,  so  hopeful  of  right,  so  defiant  of 
wrong,  so  uncompromisingly  ready  to  live  in  misery  and  disc/race,  in 
toil  and  suffering,  if  but  the  true  and  the  good  triumph,  —  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review  for  January,  1859. 

ONCE  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands, 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 

And  fiery  hearts  and  armed  hands 
Encountered  in  the  °battle-cloud. 

Ah  !  never  shall  the  land  forget  5 

How  gushed  the  life-blood  of  her  brave  — 

Gushed,  warm  with  hope  and  courage  yet, 
Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save. 

Now  all  is  calm,  and  fresh,  and  still; 

Alone  the  chirp  of  flitting  bird,  10 

And  talk  of  children  on  the  hill, 

And  bell  of  wandering  °kine,  are  heard. 

No  solemn  host  goes  trailing  by 

The  black-mouthed  gun  and  staggering  °wain ; 
Men  start  not  at  the  battle-cry,  15 

Oh,  be  it  never  heard  again ! 


116  EARLIER  POEMS 

Soon  rested  those  who  fought;  but  thou 
Who  minglest  in  the  harder  strife 

For  truths  which  men  receive  not  now, 

Thy  warfare  only  ends  with  life.  20 

A  friendless  warfare  !  lingering  long 
Through  weary  day  and  weary  year, 

A  wild  and  many-weaponed  throng 

Hang  on  thy  front,  and  flank,  and  rear. 

Yet  nerve  thy  spirit  to  the  °proof ,  25 

And  blench  not  at  thy  chosen  lot. 

The  timid  good  may  stand  aloof, 

The  °sage  may  frown  —  yet  faint  thou  not. 

Nor  heed  the  shaft  too  surely  cast, 

The  foul  and  hissing  bolt  of  scorn ;  30 

For  with  thy  side  shall  dwell,  at  last, 

The  victory  of  endurance  born. 

Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again; 

The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers  ; 
But  Error,  wounded,  writhes  in  pain,  35 

And  dies  among  his  worshippers. 

Yea,  though  thou  lie  upon  the  dust, 
When  they  who  helped  thee  flee  in  fear, 

Die  full  of  hope  and  manly  trust, 

Like  those  who  fell  in  battle  here.  4c 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD  117 

Another  hand  thy  sword  shall  wield, 

Another  hand  the  standard  wave, 
Till  from  the  trumpet's  mouth  is  pealed 

The  blast  of  triumph  o'er  thy  grave. 


118  LATER  POEMS 


^         LATEE  POEMS 

°SELLA 

Sella  is  the  name  given  by  tfifrYulgate  to  one  of  the  wives  of  Lamech, 
mentioned  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  book  of  Genesis,  and  called 
Zillah  in  the  common  English  version  of  the  Bible.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN 
BRYANT. 

HEAR  now  a  legend  of  the  days  of  old  — 
The  days  when  there  were  goodly  marvels  yet, 
When  man  to  man  gave  willing  faith,  and  loved 
A  tale  the  better  that  'twas  wild  and  strange. 

°Beside  a  pleasant  dwelling  ran  a  brook  5 

Scudding  along  a  narrow  channel,  paved 
With  green  and  yellow  pebbles ;  yet  full  clear 
Its  waters  were,  and  colorless  and  cool, 
'As  fresh  from  granite  rocks.     A  maiden  oft 
Stood  at  the  open  window,  leaning  out,  10 

And  listening  to  the  sound  the  water  made, 
°A  sweet,  eternal  murmur,  still  the  same, 
And  not  the  same ;  and  oft,  as  spring  came  on, 
She  gathered  violets  from  its  fresh  moist  bank, 
To  place  within  her  bower,  and  when  the  herbs      15 
Of  summer  drooped  beneath  the  mid-day  sun, 
She  sat  within  the  shade  of  a  great  rock, 
Dreamily  listening  to  the  streamlet's  song. 


SELL  A  119 

Ripe  were  the  maiden's  years ;  her  stature  showed 
Womanly  beauty,  and  her  clear,  calm  eye  20 

Was  bright  with  venturous  spirit,  yet  her  face 
Was  °passionless,  like  those  by  sculptor  °graved 
For  °niches  in  a  temple.     Lovers  oft 
Had  wooed  her,  but  she  only  laughed  at  love, 
And  wondered  at  the  silly  things  they  said.  25 

'Twas  her  delight  to  wander  where  wild  vines 
O'erhang  the  river's  brim,  to  climb  the  path 
Of  woodland  streamlet  to  its  mountain  springs, 
To  sit  by  gleaming  °wells  and  mark  below 
The  image  of  the  rushes  on  its  edge,  30 

°And,  deep  beyond,  the  trailing  clouds  that  slid 
Across  the  fair  blue  space.     No  little  fount 
Stole  forth  from  hanging  rock,  or  in  the  side 
Of  hollow  dell,  or  under  roots  of  oak; 
No  rill  came  trickling,  °with  a  stripe  of  green,  35 

Down  the  bare  hill,  that  to  this  maiden's  eye 
Was  not  familiar.     Often  did  the  banks 
Of  river  or  of  °sylvan  lakelet  hear 
The  dip  of  oars  with  which  the  maiden  rowed 
Her  °shallop,  pushing  ever  from  the  prow  40 

A  crowd  of  long,  light  ripples  toward  the  shore. 

Two  brothers  had  the  maiden,  and  she  thought, 
Within  herself:  " I  would  I  were  like  them; 
For  then  I  might  go  forth  alone,  to  trace 
The  mighty  rivers  downward  to  the  sea,  45 

And  upward  to  the  brooks  that,  through  the  year, 
Prattle  to  the  cool  valleys.     I  would  know 
What  races  drink  their  waters ;  how  their  chiefs 


120  LATER  POEMS 

Bear  rule,  and  how  men  worship  there,  and  how 

They  build,  and  to  what  quaint  device  they  frame,   50 

Where  sea  and  river  meet,  their  stately  ships; 

What  flowers  are  in  their  gardens,  and  what  trees 

Bear  fruit  within  their  orchards ;   in  what  garb 

Their  bowmen  meet  on  holidays,  and  how 

Their  maidens  bind  the  waist  and  braid  the  hair.       55 

Here,  on  these  hills,  my  father's  house  overlooks 

Broad  pastures  grazed  by  flocks  and  herds,  but  there 

I  hear  they  sprinkle  the  great  plains  with  corn 

And  watch  its  springing  up,  and  when  the  green 

Is  changed  to  gold,  they  cut  the  stems  and  bring      60 

The  harvest  in,  and  give  the  nations  bread. 

And  there  they  hew  the  °quarry  into  shafts, 

And  pile  up  glorious  temples  from  the  rock, 

And  chisel  the  rude  stones  to  shapes  of  men. 

All  this  I  pine  to  see,  and  would  have  seen,  65 

But  that  I  am  a  woman,  long  ago." 

Thus  in  her  wanderings  did  the  maiden  dream, 
Until,  at  length,  one  morn  in  early  spring, 
When  all  the  glistening  fields  lay  white  with  frost, 
She  came  half  breathless  where  her  mother  sat :         70 
"See,  mother  dear,"  she  said,  "what- 1  have  found, 
Upon  our  rivulet's  bank;  two  °slippers,  white 
As  the  mid-winter  snow,  and  spangled  o'er 
With  twinkling  points,  like  stars,  and  on  the  edge 
My  name  is  wrought  in  silver;  read,  I  pray,  75 

Sella,  the  name  thy  mother,  now  in  heaven, 
Gave  at  my  birth ;   and  sure,  they  fit  my  feet !  " 
"  A  dainty  pair,"  the  prudent  matron  said, 


BELLA  121 

"  But  thine  they  are  not.     We  must  lay  them  by 

For  those  whose  careless  hands  have  left  them  here;     80 

Or  haply  they  were  placed  beside  the  brook 

To  be  a  snare.     °I  cannot  see  thy  name 

Upon  the  border  —  only  characters 

Of  mystic  look  and  dim  are  there,  like  signs 

Of  some  strange  arfp  nay,  daughter,  wear  them  not/'  85 

Then  Sella  hung  the  slippers  in  the  porch 
Of  that  broad  rustic  lodge,  and  all  who  passed 
Admired  their  fair  °contexture,  but  none  knew 
Who  left  them  by  the  brook.     And  now,  at  length, 
May,  with  her  flowers  and  singing  birds,  had  gone,        90 
And  on  bright  streams  and  into  deep  wells  shone 
The  high  midsummer  sun.     One  day,  at  noon, 
Sella  was  missed  from  the  accustomed  meal. 
They  sought  her  in  her  favorite  haunts,  they  looked 
By  the  great  rock  and  far  along  the  stream,  95 

And  shouted  in  the  °sounding  woods  her  name. 
Night  came,  and  forth  the  sorrowing  household  went 
With  torches  over  the  wide  pasture  grounds, 
To  pool  and  thicket,  marsh  and  briery  dell, 
And  solitary  valley  far  away.  100 

The  morning  came,  and  Sella  was  not  found. 
The  sun  climbed  high ;  they  sought  her  still ;  the  noon, 
The  hot  and  silent  noon,  heard  Sella's  name, 
Uttered  with  a  despairing  cry,  to  wastes 
O'er  which  the  eagle  hovered.     As  the  sun  105 

Stooped  toward  the  amber  west  to  bring  the  close 
Of  that  sad  second  day,  and,  with  red  eyes, 
The  mother  sat  within  her  home  alone, 


122  LATER  POEMS 

Sella  was  at  her  side.     A  shriek  of  joy 

Broke  the  sad  silence;  glad,  warm  tears  were  shed,  no 

And  words  of  gladness  uttered.     "  Oh,  forgive," 

The  maiden  said,  "  that  I  could  e'er  forget 

Thy  wishes  for  a  moment.     I  just  tried 

The  slippers  on,  amazed  to  see  them  shaped 

So  fairly  to  my  feet,  when,  all  at  once,  115 

I  felt  my  steps  upborne  and  hurried  on 

Almost  as  if  with  wings.     A  strange  delight, 

Blent  with  a  thrill  of  fear,  overmastered  me, 

And,  ere  I  knew,  my  splashing  steps  were  set 

Within  the  rivulet's  pebbly  bed,  and  I  120 

Was  rushing  down  the  current.     By  my  side 

°Tripped  one  as  beautiful  as  ever  looked 

From  white  clouds  in  a  dream ;  and,  as  we  ran, 

She  talked  with  musical  voice  and  sweetly  laughed  ; 

Gayly  we  leaped  the  crag  and  swam  the  pool,  125 

And  swept  with  dimpling  eddies  round  the  rock, 

And  glided  between  shady  meadow  banks. 

The  streamlet,  broadening  as  we  went,  became 

A  swelling  river,  and  we  shot  along 

By  stately  towns,  and  under  leaning  masts  13 

Of  gallant  barks,  nor  lingered  by  the  shore 

Of  blooming  gardens ;  onward,  onward  still, 

The  same  strong  impulse  bore  me,  till,  at  last, 

We  entered  the  great  deep,  and  passed  below 

His  billows,  into  boundless  spaces,  lit  '  13 

With  a  green  sunshine.     °Here  were  mighty  groves 

Far  down  the  ocean- valleys,  and  between 

Lay  what  might  seem  fair  meadows,  softly  tinged 


SELLA  123 

With  orange  and  with  crimson.     Here  arose 

Tall  stems,  that,  rooted  in  the  depths  below,  140 

Swung  idly  with  the  motions  of  the  sea; 

And  here  were  shrubberies  in  whose  °mazy  screen 

The  creatures  of  the  deep  made  haunt.     My  friend 

Named  the  strange  growths,  the  pretty  °coralline, 

The  °dulse  with  crimson  leaves,  and,  streaming  far,     145 

°Sea-thong  and  °sea-lace.     Here  the  tangle  spread 

Its  broad,  thick  °fronds,  with  pleasant  bowers  beneath, 

And  oft  we  trod  a  waste  of  pearly  sands, 

Spotted  with  rosy  shells,  and  thence  looked  in 

At  caverns  of  the  sea  whose  rock-roofed  halls  150 

Lay  in  blue  twilight.     As  we  moved  along, 

The  dwellers  of  the  deep,  in  mighty  herds, 

Passed  by  us,  reverently  they  passed  us  by, 

Long  trains  of  dolphins  rolling  through  the  brine, 

Huge  whales,  that  drew  the  waters  after  them,  155 

A  torrent-stream,  and  hideous  hammer-sharks, 

Chasing  their  prey;  I  shuddered  as  they  came; 

Gently  they  turned  aside  and  gave  us  room." 

Hereat  broke  in  the  mother:   °"Sella  dear, 
This  is  a  dream,  the  idlest,  vainest  dream."  160 

"  Nay,  mother,  nay ;  behold  this  sea-green  scarf, 
Woven  of  such  threads  as  never  human  hand 
Twined  from  the  °distaff .     She  who  led  my  way 
Through  the  great  waters  bade  me  wear  it  home, 
A  token  that   my  tale  is  true.     '  And  keep/  165 

She  said,  '  the  slippers  thou  hast  found,  for  thou, 
When  shod  with  them,  shalt  be  like  one  of  us, 
With  power  to  walk  at  will  the  ocean  floor, 


124  LATER  POEMS 

Among  its  monstrous  creatures,  unafraid, 
And  feel  no  longing  for  the  air  of  heaven  170 

To  fill  thy  lungs,  and  send  the  warm,  red  blood 
Along  thy  veins.     But  thou  shalt  pass  the  hours 
In  dances  with  the  °sea-nymphs,  or  go  forth, 
To  look  into  the  mysteries  of  the  °abyss 
Where    never    °plummet    reached.     And    thou    shalt 
sleep  175 

Thy  weariness  away  on  downy  banks 
Of  sea-moss,  where  the  °pulses  of  the  tide 
Shall  gently  lift  thy  hair,  or  thou  shalt  float 
On  the  soft  currents  that  go  forth  and  wind 
From  isle  to  isle,  and  wander  through  the  sea.'  180 

"So  spake  my  fellow- voyager,  her  words 
Sounding  like  wavelets  on  a  summer  shore, 
And  then  we  stopped  beside  a  hanging  rock, 
With  a  smooth  beach  of  white  sands  at  its  foot, 
Where  three  fair  creatures  like  herself  were  set  185 

At  their  sea-banquet,  crisp  and  juicy  stalks, 
°Culled  from  the  ocean's  meadows,  and  the  sweet 
°Midrib  of  pleasant  leaves,  and  golden  fruits, 
Dropped  from  the  trees  that  edge  the  southern  isles, 
And  gathered  on  the  waves.     Kindly  they  prayed       190 
That  I  would  share  their  meal,  and  I  partook 
With  eager  appetite,  for  long  had  been 
My  journey,  and  I  left  the  spot  refreshed. 

"  And  then  we  wandered  off  amid  the  groves 
Of  coral  loftier  than  the  growths  of  earth ;  195 

The  mightiest  cedar  lifts  no  trunk  like  theirs, 
So  huge,  so  high  toward  heaven,  nor  overhangs 


SELLA  125 

i 

Alleys  and  bowers  so  dim.     We  moved  between 

°Pinnacles  of  black  rock,  which,  from  beneath, 

°Molten  by  inner  fires,  so  said  my  guide,  200 

Gushed  long  ago  into  the  hissing  brine, 

That  quenched  and  hardened  them,  and  now  they  stand 

Motionless  in  the  currents  of  the  sea 

That  part  and  flow  around  them.     As  we  went, 

We  looked  into  the  hollows  of  the  °abyss,  205 

To  which  the  never-resting  waters  sweep 

The  skeletons  of  sharks,  the  long  white  spines 

Of  narwhal  and  of  dolphin,  bones  of  men 

Shipwrecked,  and  mighty  ribs  of  foundered  barks. 

Down  the  blue  pits  we  looked,  and  hastened  on.  210 

"  But  beautiful  the  fountains  of  the  sea 
Sprang  upward  from  its  bed :  the  silvery  jets 
Shot  branching  far  into  the  °azure  brine, 
And  where  they  mingled  with  it,  the  great  deep 
Quivered  and  shook,  as  shakes  the  glimmering  air        215 
Above  a  furnace.     So  we  wandered  through 
The  mighty  world  of  waters,  till  at  length 
1  wearied  of  its  wonders,  and  my  heart 
Began  to  yearn  for  my  dear  mountain-home. 
I  prayed  my  gentle  guide  to  lead  me  back  220 

To  the  upper  air.     '  A  glorious  realm/  I  said, 
'  Is  this  thou  openest  to  me ;  but  I  stray 
Bewildered  in  its  vastness;  these  strange  sights 
And  this  strange  light  oppress  me.0     I  must  see 
The  faces  that  I  love,  or  I  shall  die/  225 

"  She  took  my  hand,  and,  darting  through  the  waves, 
Brought  me  to  where  the  stream,  by  which  we  came, 


126  LATER  POEMS 

Rushed  into  the  main  ocean.     Then  began 

A  slower  journey  upward.     Wearily 

We  breasted  the  strong  current,  climbing  through    250 

The  rapids,  tossing  high  their  foam.     The  night 

Came  down,  and  in  the  clear  depth  of  a  pool, 

Edged  with  overhanging  rock,  we  took  our  rest 

Till  morning;  and  I  slept,  and  dreamed  of  home 

And  thee.     A  pleasant  sight  the  morning  showed;   235 

The  green  fields  of  this  upper  world,  the  herds 

That  grazed  the  bank,  the  light  on  the  red  clouds, 

The  trees,  with  all  their  host  of  trembling  leaves, 

Lifting  and  lowering  to  the  restless  wind 

Their  branches.     As  I  woke,  I  saw  them  all  240 

From  the  clear  stream;  yet  strangely  was  my  heart 

Parted  between  the  watery  world  and  this, 

And  as  we  journeyed  upward,  oft  I  thought 

Of  marvels  I  had  seen,  and  stopped  and  turned, 

And  lingered,  °till  I  thought  of  thee  again;  245 

And  then  again  I  turned  and  clambered  up 

The  rivulet's  murmuring  path,  until  we  came 

Beside  the  cottage  door.     There  tenderly 

My  fair  conductor  kissed  me,  and  I  saw 

Her  face  no  more.     I  took  the  slippers  off.  250 

Oh !  with  what  deep  delight  my  lungs  drew  in 

The  air  of  heaven  again,  and  with  what  joy 

I  felt  my  blood  bound  with  its  former  glow ; 

And  now  I  never  leave  thy  side  again !" 

So  spoke  the  maiden  Sella,  with  large  tears  255 

Standing  in  her  mild  eyes,  and  in  the  porch 
Replaced  the  slippers.     Autumn  came  and  went; 


SELLA  127 

The  winter  passed ;  another  summer  warmed 

The  quiet  pools ;  another  autumn  tinged 

The  grape  with  red,  yet  while  it  hung  unplucked,         260 

The  mother  ere  her  time  was  carried  forth 

To  sleep  among  the  solitary  hills. 

A  long,  still  sadness  settled  on  that  home 
Among  the  mountains.     The  stern  father  there 
Wept  with  his  children,  and  grew  soft  of  heart,  ^65 

And  Sella,  and  the  brothers  twain,  and  one 
Younger  than  they,  a  sister  fair  and  shy, 
Strewed  the  new  grave  with  flowers,  and  round  it  set 
Shrubs  that  all  winter  held  their  lively  green. 
Time  passed;    the  grief  with  which  their  hearts  were 
wrung  270 

°Waned  to  a  gentle  sorrow.     Sella,  now, 
Was  often  absent  from  the  °patriarch's  board; 
The  slippers  hung  no  longer  in  the  porch; 
And  sometimes  after  summer  nights  her  couch 
Was  found  unpressed  at  dawn,  and  well  they  knew     275 
That  she  was  wandering  with  the  race  who  make 
Their  dwelling  in  the  waters.     Oft  her  looks 
Fixed  on  blank  space,  and  oft  the  ill-suited  word 
Told  that  her  thoughts  were  far  away.     In  vain 
Her  brothers  reasoned  with  her  tenderly :  280 

"Oh  leave  not  thus  thy  kindred  !"  so  they  prayed; 
"  Dear  Sella,  now  that  she  who  gave  us  birth 
Is  in  her  grave,  oh  go  not  hence,  to  seek 
Companions  in  that  strange  cold  realm  below, 
For  which  God  made  not  us  nor  thee,  but  stay  285 

To  be  the  grace  and  glory  of  our  home." 


128  LATER  POEMS 

She  looked  at  them  with  those  mild  eyes  and  wept, 
But  said  no  word  in  answer,  nor  refrained 
From  those  mysterious  wanderings  that  filled 
Their  loving  hearts  with  a  perpetual  pain.  290 

°And  now  the  younger  sister,  fair  and  shy, 
Had  grown  to  early  womanhood,  and  one 
Who  loved  her  well  had  wooed  her  for  his  bride, 
And  she  had  named  the  wedding  day.     The  herd 
Had  given  its  fatlings  for  the  marriage  feast;  295 

The  roadside  garden  and  the  secret  glen 
Were  rifled  of  their  sweetest  flowers  to  twine 
The  door-posts,  and  to  lie  among  the  locks 
Of  maids,  the  wedding-guests,  and  from  the  bough 
Of  mountain-orchards  had  the  fairest  fruit  300 

Been  plucked  to  glisten  in  the  °canisters. 

Then,  trooping  over  hill  and  valley,  came 
Matron  and  maid,  grave  men  and  smiling  youths, 
Like  swallows  gathering  for  their  autumn  flight, 
In  costumes  of  that  simpler  age  they  came,  305 

That  gave  the  limbs  large  play,  and  wrapped  the  form 
In  easy  folds,  yet  bright  with  glowing  hues 
As  suited  holidays.     All  hastened  on 
To  that  glad  bridal.     There  already  stood 
The  priest  prepared  to  say  the  °spousal  rite,  310 

And  there  the  harpers  in  due  order  sat, 
And  there  the  singers.     Sella,  midst  them  all, 
Moved  strangely  and  serenely  beautiful, 
With  clear  blue  eyes,  fair  locks,  and  brow  and  cheek 
Colorless  as  the  lily  of  the  lakes,  315 

Yet  moulded  to  such  shape  as  artists  give 


SELLA  129 

To  beings  of  immortal  youth.     Her  hands 

Had  decked  her  sister  for  the  bridal  hour 

With  chosen  flowers,  and  lawn  whose  delicate  threads 

Vied  with  the  spider's  spinning.     °There  she  stood      320 

With  a  gentle  pleasure  in  her  looks 

As  might  beseem  a  river-nymph's  soft  eyes 

Gracing  a  bridal  of  the  race  whose  flocks 

Were  pastured  on  the  borders  of  her  stream. 

She  smiled,  but  from  that  calm  sweet  face  the  smile  325 
Was  soon  to  pass  away.     That  very  morn 
The  elder  of  the  brothers,  as  he  stood 
Upon  the  hillside,  had  beheld  the  maid, 
Emerging  from  the  channel  of  the  brook, 
With  three  fresh  water  lilies  in  her  hand,  330 

Wring  dry  her  dripping  locks,  and  in  a  cleft 
Of  hanging  rock,  beside  a  screen  of  boughs, 
Bestow  the  spangled  slippers.     None  before 
Had  known  where  Sella  hid  them.     Then  she  laid 
The  light-brown  tresses  smooth,  and  in  them  twined   335 
The  lily-buds,  and  hastily  drew  forth 
And  threw  across  her  shoulders  a  light  robe 
Wrought  for  the  bridal,  and  with  bounding  steps 
Ran  toward  the  lodge.     The  youth  beheld  and  marked 
The  spot  and  slowly  followed  from  afar.  340 

Now  had  the  marriage  rite  been  said;  the  bride 
Stood  in  the  blush  that  from  her  burning  cheek 
Glowed  down  the  °alabaster  neck,  as  morn 
Crimsons  the  pearly  heaven  half-way  to  the  west. 
At  once  the  harpers  struck  their  chords ;  a  gush  345 

Of  music  broke  upon  the  air ;  the  youths 


130  LATER  POEMS 

All  started  to  the  dance.     Among  them  moved 

The  queenly  Sella  with  a  grace  that  seemed 

Caught  from  the  swaying  of  the  summer  sea. 

The  young  drew  forth  the  elders  to  the  dance,  350 

Who  joined  it  half  abashed,  but  when  they  felt 

The  joyous  music  tingling  in  their  veins, 

They  called  for  °quaint  old  measures,  which  they  trod 

As  gayly  as  in  youth,  and  far  abroad 

Came  through  the  open  windows  cheerful  shouts          355 

And  bursts  of  laughter.     They  who  heard  the  sound 

Upon  the  mountain  footpaths  paused  and  said, 

"  A  merry  wedding. "     Lovers  stole  away 

That  sunny  afternoon  to  bowers  that  edged 

The  garden  walks,  and  what  was  whispered  there        360 

The  lovers  of  these  later  times  can  guess. 

Meanwhile  the  brothers,  when  the  merry  din 
Was  loudest,  stole  to  where  the  slippers  lay, 
And  took  them  thence,  and  followed  down  the  brook 
To  where  a  little  rapid  rushed  between  365 

Its  borders  of  smooth  rock,  and  dropped  them  in. 
The  rivulet,  as  they  touched  its  face,  flung  up 
Its  small  bright  waves  like  hands,  and  seemed  to  take 
The  prize  with  eagerness  and  draw  it  down. 
They,  gleaming  through  the  waters  as  they  went,         370 
And  striking  with  light  sound  the  shining  stones, 
Slid    down    the    stream.     The    brothers    looked    and 

watched, 

And  listened  with  full  beating  hearts,  till  now 
The  sight  and  sound  had  passed,  and  silently 
And  half  repentant  hastened  to  the  lodge.  375 


SELLA  131 

The  sun  was  near  his  set ;  the  music  rang 
Within  the  dwelling  still,  but  the  mirth  waned; 
For  groups  of  guests  were  sauntering  toward  their  homes 
Across  the  fields,  and  far,  on  hillside  paths, 
Gleamed  the  white  robes  of  maidens.     Sella  grew        380 
Weary  of  the  long  merriment;  she  thought 
Of  her  still  haunts  beneath  the  soundless  sea, 
And  all  unseen  withdrew  and  sought  the  cleft 
Where  she  had  laid  the  slippers.     They  were  gone ! 
She  searched  the  brookside  near,  yet  found  them  not.  385 
Then  her  heart  sank  within  her,  and  she  ran 
Wildly  from  place  to  place,  and  once  again 
She  searched  the  secret  cleft,  and  next  she  stooped 
And  with  spread  palms  felt  carefully  beneath 
The  tufted  herbs  and  bushes,  and  again,  39o 

And  yet  again,  she  searched  the  rocky  cleft. 
"Who     could    have     taken     them?"     That    question 

cleared 

The  mystery.     She  remembered  suddenly 
That  when  the  dance  was  in  its  gayest  whirl, 
Her  brothers  were  not  seen,  and  when,  at  length,     v    395 
They  reappeared,  the  elder  joined  the  sports 
With  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth,  and  from  her  eye 
The  younger  shrank  in  silence.     "  Now,  I  know 
The  guilty  ones/7  she  said,  and  left  the  spot, 
And  stood  before  the  youths  with  such  a  look  400 

Of  anguish  and  reproach  that  well  they  knew 
Her  thought,  and  almost  wished  the  deed  undone. 

Frankly  they  owned  the  charge :   "  And  pardon  us ; 
We  did  it  all  in  love;  we  could  not  bear 


132  LATER  POEMS 

That  the  cold  world  of  waters  and  the  strange  405 

Beings  that  dwell  within  it  should  beguile 

Our  sister  from  us."     Then  they  told  her  all; 

How  they  had  seen  her  stealthily  bestow 

The  slippers  in  the  cleft,  and  how  by  stealth 

They  took  them  thence  and  bore  them  down  the  brook  410 

And  dropped  them  in,  and  how  the  eager  waves 

Gathered  and  drew  them  down;  but  at  that  word 

The  maiden  shrieked  —  a  broken-hearted  shriek  — 

And  all  who  heard  it  shuddered  and  turned  pale 

At  the  despairing  cry,  and  "They  are  gone,"  415 

She  said,  "  gone  —  gone  for  ever  !    Cruel  ones  ! 

'Tis  you  who  shut  me  out  eternally 

From  that  serener  world  which  I  had  learned 

To  love  so  well.     Why  took  ye  not  my  life  ? 

Ye  cannot  know  what  ye  have  done  !"     She  spake      420 

And  hurried  to  her  chamber,  and  the  guests 

Who  yet  had  lingered  silently  withdrew. 

The  brothers  followed  to  the  maiden's  bower, 
But  with  a  calm  °demeanor,  as  they  came, 
She  met  them  at  the  door.     "  The  wrong  is  great,"      425 
She  said,  "  that  ye  have  done  me,  but  no  power 
Have  ye  to  make  it  less,  nor  yet  to  soothe 
My  sorrow;  I  shall  bear  it  as  I  may, 
The  better  for  the  hours  that  I  have  passed 
In  the  calm  region  of  the  °middle  sea.  430 

Go,  then.     I  need  you  not."     They,  overawed, 
Withdrew  from  that  grave  presence.     Then  her  tears 
Broke  forth  a  flood,  as  when  the  August  cloud, 
Darkening  beside  the  mountain,  suddenly 


SELLA  133 

Melts  into  streams  of  rain.     That  weary  night          435 
She  paced  her  chamber,  murmuring  as  she  walked, 
"  0  peaceful  region  of  the  middle  sea ! 

0  azure  bowers  and  grots,  in  which  I  loved 
To  roam  and  rest !     Am  I  to  long  for  you, 

And  think  how  strangely  beautiful  ye  are,  440 

Yet  never  sea  you  more  ?     And  dearer  yet, 
Ye  gentle  ones  in  whose  sweet  company 

1  trod  the  shelly  pavements  of  the  deep, 

And  swam  its  currents,  creatures  with  calm  eyes 

Looking  the  tenderest  love,  and  voices  soft  445 

As  ripple  of  light  waves  along  the  shore, 

Uttering  the  tenderest  words  !     Oh  !  ne'er  again 

Shall  I,  in  your  mild  aspects,  read  the  peace 

That  dwells  within,  and  vainly  shall  I  pine 

To  hear  your  sweet  low  voices.     Haply  now  450 

Ye  miss  me  in  your  tleep-sea  home,  and  think 

Of  me  with  pity,  as  of  one  condemned 

To  haunt  this  upper  world,  with  its  harsh  sounds 

And  glaring  lights,  its  withering  heats,  its  frosts, 

Cruel  and  killing,  its  delirious  strifes,  455 

And  all  its  feverish  passions,  till  I  die." 

So  mourned  she  the  long  night,  and  when  the  morn 
Brightened  the  mountains,  from  her  lattice  looked 
The  maiden  on  a  world  that  was  to  her 
A  desolate  and  dreary  waste.     That  day  460 

She  passed  in  wandering  by  the  brook  that  oft 
Had  been  her  pathway  to  the  sea,  and  still 
Seemed,  with  its  cheerful  murmur,  to  invite 
Her  footsteps  thither.     "  Well  mayst  thou  rejoice, 


134  LATER  POEMS 

Fortunate  stream!7'  she  said,  "and  dance  along          465 

Thy  bed,  and  make  thy  course  one  ceaseless  strain 

Of  music,  for  thou  journeyest  toward  the  deep, 

To  which  I  shall  return  no  more."     The  night 

Brought  her  to  her  lone  chamber,  and  she  knelt 

And  prayed,  with  many  tears,  to  Him  whose  hand      470 

Touches  the  wounded  heart  and  it  is  healr.u. 

With  prayer  there  came  new  thoughts  and  new  desires. 

She  asked  for  patience  and  a  deeper  love 

For  those  with  whom  her  lot  was  henceforth  cast, 

And  that  in  acts  of  mercy  she  might  lose  475 

The  sense  of  her  own  sorrow.    .When  she  rose 

A  weight  was  lifted  from  her  heart.     She  sought 

Her  couch,  and  slept  a  long  and  peaceful  sleep. 

At  morn  she  woke  to  a  new  life.     Her  days 

Henceforth  were  given  to  quiet  tasks  of  good  480 

In 'the  great  world.     Men  hearkened  to  her  words, 

And  wondered  at  their  wisdom  and  obeyed, 

And  saw  how  beautiful  the  law  of  love 

Can  make  the  cares  and  toils  of  daily  life. 

Still  did  she  love  to  haunt  the  springs  and  brooks    485 
As  in  her  cheerful  childhood,  and  she  taught 
The  skill  to  pierce  the  soil  and  meet  the  veins 
Of  clear  cold  water  winding  underneath, 
And  call  them  forth  to  daylight.     °From  afar 
She  bade  men  bring  the  rivers  on  long  rows  490 

Of  pillared  arches  to  the  sultry  town, 
And  on  the  hot  air  of  the  summer  fling 
The  spray  of  dashing  fountains.     To  relieve 
Their  weary  hands,  she  showed  them  how  to  tame 


The  rushing  s 


SELLA  135 


ie  rushing  stream,  and  make  him  drive  the  wheel     495 
That  whirls  the  humming  millstone  and  that  wields 
The  ponderous  sledge.     The  waters  of  the  cloud, 
That  drench  the  hillside  in  the  time  of  rains, 
Were  gathered,  at  her  bidding,  into  pools, 
And  in  the  months  of  drought  led  forth  again,  500 

In  glimmering  fivulets,  to  refresh  the  vales, 
Till  the  sky  darkened  with  returning  showers. 

So  passed  her  life,  a  long  and  blameless  life, 
And  far  and  near  her  name  was  named  with  love 
And  reverence.     Still  she  kept,  as  age  came  on,  505 

Her  stately  presence ;  still  her  eyes  looked  forth 
From  under  their  calm  brows  as  brightly  clear 
As  the  transparent  wells  by  which  she  sat 
So  oft  in  childhood.     Still  she  kept  her  fair 
Unwrinkled  features,  though  her  locks  were  white.       510 
A  hundred  times  had  summer,  since  her  birth, 
Opened  the  water-lily  on  the  lakes, 
So  old  traditions  tell,  before  she  died. 
A  hundred  cities  mourned  her,  and  her  death 
Saddened  the  °pastoral  valleys.     By  the  brook,  515 

That  bickering  ran  beside  the  cottage  door 
Where  she  was  born,  they  reared  her  monument. 
Ere  long  the  current  parted  and  flowed  round 
The  marble  base,  forming  a  little  isle, 
And  there  the  flowers  that  love  the  running  stream,     520 
Iris  and  orchis,  and  the  cardinal-flower, 
Crowded  and  hung  caressingly  around 
The  stone  engraved  with  Sella's  honored  name, 


136  LATER  POEMS 


°THE  DEATH  OF  SCHILLER 

Shortly  before  the  death  of  Schiller,  he  wc.s  seized  with  a  strong 
desire  to  travel  in  foreign  countries,  as  ij  his  spirit  had  a  presentiment 
of  its  approaching  enlargement,  and  already  longed  to  expatiate  in 
a  wider  and  more  varied  sphere  of  existence.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN 
BRYANT. 

7Tis  said,  when  Schiller's  death  drew  nigh, 
The  wish  possessed  his  mighty  mind, 

To  wander  forth  wherever  lie 

The  homes  and  haunts  of  humankind. 


Then  strayed  the  poet,  in  his  dreams, 
By  Rome  and  Egypt's  ancient  graves ; 

Went  up  the  New  World's  forest-streams, 
Stood  in  the  °Hindoo's  temple-caves; 


Walked  with  the  °Pawnee,  fierce  and  °stark, 
The  °sallow  °Tartar,  midst  his  herds, 

The  peering  Chinese,  and  the  dark 
False  °Malay,  uttering  gentle  words.. 


How  could  he  rest  ?  even  then  he  trod 
The  threshold  of  the  world  unknown; 

Already,  from  the  seat  of  God,  15 

A  ray  upon  his  garments  shone ;  — 


THE  FUTURE  LIFE  137 

Shone  and  awoke  the  strong  desire, 

For  love  and  knowledge  reached  not  here, 

Till,  freed  by  death,  his  soul  of  fire 

Sprang  to  a  fairer,  ampler  sphere.  20 


Then  —  who  shall  tell  how  deep,  how  bright 
The  abyss  of  glory  opened  round  ? 

How  thought  and  feeling  flowed  like  light 
Through  ranks  of  being  without  bound  ? 


°THE  FUTURE  LIFE 

How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 
The  °disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 

When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither  sleeps 
And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread  ? 

For  I  shall  feel  the  sting  of  ceaseless  pain 
If  there  I  meet  thy  gentle  presence  not ; 

Nor  hear  the  voice  I  love,  nor  read  again 
In  thy  serenest  eyes  the  tender  thought. 


Will  not  thy  own  meek  heart  demand  me  there? 

That  heart  whose  fondest  throbs  to  me  were  given  ?  10 
My  name  on  earth  was  ever  in  thy  prayer, 

Shall  it  be  banished  from  thy  tongue  in  heaven  ? 


138  LATER  POEMS 

In  meadows  fanned  by  heaven's  life-breathing  wind, 
In  the  resplendence  of  that  gJorious  sphere, 

And  larger  movements  of  the  unfettered  mind,  15 

Wilt  thou  forget  the  love  that  joined  us  here  ? 

The  love  that  lived  through  all  the  stormy  past, 
And  meekly  with  my  harsher  nature  bore, 

And  deeper  grew,  and  tenderer  to  the  last, 

Shall  it  expire  with  life,  and  be  no  more  ?  20 

A  happier  lot  than  mine,  and  larger  light, 

Await  thee  there ;  for  thou  hast  bowed  thy  will 

In  cheerful  homage  to  the  rule  of  right, 
And  lovest  all,  and  renderest  good  for  ill. 

For  me,  the  °sordid  cares  in  which  I  dwell  25 

Shrink  and  consume  my  heart,  as  heat  the  scroll; 

And  wrath  has  left  its  scar  —  that  fire  of  hell 
Has  left  its  frightful  scar  upon  my  soul. 

Yet  though  thou  wear'st  the  glory  of  the  sky, 

Wilt  thou  not  keep  the  same  beloved  name,  30 

The  same  fair  thoughtful  brow,  and  gentle  eye, 
Lovelier  in  heaven's  sweet  climate,  yet  the  same  ? 

Shalt  thou  not  teach  me,  in  that  calmer  home, 
The  wisdom  that  I  learned  so  ill  in  this  — 

The  wisdom  which  is  love  —  till  I  become  35 

Thy  fit  companion  in  that  land  of  bliss  ? 


THE  FOUNTAIN  139 


°THE  FOUNTAIN 

FOUNTAIN,  that  springest  on  this  grassy  slope, 
Thy  quick  cool  murmur  mingles  pleasantly, 
With  the  cool  sound  of  breezes  in  the  beech, 
Above  me  in  the  noontide.     Thou  dost  wear 
No  stain  of  thy  dark  birthplace;  gushing  up  5 

From  the  red  mould  and  slimy  roots  of  earth, 
Thou  flashest  in  the  sun.     The  mountain  air. 
In  winter,  is  not  clearer,  nor  the  dew 
That  shines  on  mountain  blossom.     Thus  doth  God 
Bring,  from  the  dark  and  foul,  the  pure  and  bright.  10 

This  tangled  thicket  on  the  bank  above 
Thy  basin,  how  thy  waters  keep  it  green  ! 
For  thou  dost  feed  the  roots  of  the  wild  vine 
That  trails  all  over  it,  and  to  the  twigs 
Ties  fast  her  clusters.     There  the  spice-bush  lifts       15 
Her  leafy  lances ;  the  °viburnum  there, 
Paler  of  foliage,  to  the  sun  holds  up 
Her  circlet  of  green  berries.     In  and  out 
The  °chipping  sparrow,  in  her  coat  of  brown, 
Steals  silently,  lest  I  should  mark  her  nest.  20 

Not  such  thou  wert  of  yore,  ere  yet  the  axe 
Had  smitten  the  old  woods.     Then  hoary  trunks 
Of  oak,  and  °plane,  and  hickory,  o'er  thee  held 


140  LATEP*  .POEMS 

A  mighty  canopy.      When  April  winds 

Grew  soft,  the  maple  burst  into  a  flush  25 

Of  scarlet  flowers.     The  °tulip-tree,  high  up, 

Opened,  in  airs  of  June,  her  multitude 

Of  golden  chalices  to  humming-birds 

And  silken-winged  insects  of  the  sky. 

Frail  wood-plants  clustered  round  thy  edge  in  Spring.  3o 
The  °liverleaf  put  forth  her  sister  blooms 
Of  faintest  blue.  Here  the  quick-footed  wolf, 
Passing  to  lap  thy  waters,  crushed  the  flower 
Of  °sanguinaria,  from  whose  brittle  stem 
The  red  drops  fell  like  blood.  The  deer,  too,  left  35 
Her  delicate  foot-print  in  the  soft  moist  mould, 
And  on  the  fallen  leaves.  The  slow-paced  bear, 
In  such  a  sultry  summer  noon  as  this, 
Stopped  at  thy  stream,  and  drank,  and  leaped  across. 

But  thou  hast  histories  that  stir  the  heart  40 

With  deeper  feeling;  while  I  look  on  thee 
They  rise  before  me.     I  behold  the  scene 
Hoary  again  with  forests ;   I  behold 
The  Indian  warrior,  whom  a  hand  unseen 
Has  smitten  with  his  death-wound  in  the  woods,  45 

Creep  slowly  to  thy  well-known  rivulet, 
And  slake  his  death-thirst.     °Hark,  that  quick  fierce  cry 
That  rends  the  utter  silence ;   'tis  the  whoop 
Of  battle,  and  a  throng  of  savage  men 
With  naked  arms  and  faces  stained  like  blood,  50 

Fill  the  green  wilderness ;   the  long  bare  arms 


THE  FOUNTAIN  141 

Are  heaved  aloft,  bows  twang  and  arrows  stream; 
Each  makes  a  tree  his  shield,  and  every  tree 
Sends  forth  its  arrow.     Fierce  the  fight  and  short, 
As  is  the  whirlwind.     Soon  the  conquerors  55 

And  conquered  vanish,  and  the  dead  remain 
Mangled  by  tomahawks.     The  mighty  woods 
Are  still  again,  the  frighted  bird  comes  back 
And  plumes  her  wings ;  but  thy  sweet  waters  run 
Crimson  with  blood.     Then,  as  the  sun  goes  down,    60 
Amid  the  deepening  twilight  I  descry 
Figures  of  men  that  crouch  and  creep  unheard, 
And  bear  away  the  dead.     The  next  day's  shower 
Shall  wash  the  tokens  of  the  fight  away. 

I  look  again  —  a  hunter's  lodge  is  built,  65 

With  poles  and  boughs,  beside  thy  crystal  well, 
While  the  meek  autumn  stains  the  woods  with  gold, 
And  sheds  his  golden  sunshine.     To  the  door 
The  red  man  slowly  drags  the  enormous  bear 
Slain  in  the  chestnut  thicket,  or  flings  down  70 

The  deer  from  his  strong  shoulders.     Shaggy  °fells 
Of  wolf  and  cougar  hang  upon  the  walls, 
And  loud  the  black-eyed  Indian  maidens  laugh, 
That  gather,  from  the  rustling  heaps  of  leaves, 
The  hickory's  white  nuts  and  the  dark  fruit  75 

That  falls  from  the  gray  butternut's  long  boughs. 

So  centuries  passed  by,  and  still  the  woods 
Blossomed  in  spring,  and  reddened  when  the  year 
Grew  chill,  and  glistened  in  the  frozen  rains 


142  LATER  POEMS 

Of  winter,  till  the  white  man  swung  the  axe  80 

Beside  thee  —  signal  of  a  mighty  change. 
Then  all  around  was  heard  the  crash  of  trees, 
Trembling  awhile  and  rushing  to  the  ground, 
The  low  of  ox,  and  shouts  of  men  who  fired 
The  brushwood,  or  who  tore  the  earth  with  ploughs.     85 
The  grain  sprang  thick  and  tall,  and  hid  in  green 
The  blackened  hill-side;  ranks  of  spiky  maize 
Rose  like  a  host  embattled ;   the  buckwheat 
Whitened  broad  acres,  sweetening  with  its  flowers 
The  August  wind.     White  cottages  were  seen  9o 

With  rose-trees  at  the  windows;   barns  from  which 
Came  loud  and  shrill  the  crowing  of  the  cock; 
Pastures  where  rolled  and  neighed  the  lordly  horse. 
And  white  flocks  browsed  and  bleated.     A  rich  turf 
Of  grasses  brought  from  far  o'ercrept  thy  bank,  95 

Spotted  with  the  white  clover.     Blue-eyed  girls 
Brought  pails,  and  dipped  them  in  thy  crystal  pool; 
And  children,  ruddy-cheeked  and  flaxen-haired, 
Gathered  the  glistening  cowslip  from  thy  edge. 

Since  then,  what  steps  have  trod  thy  border  !     Here  100 
On  thy  green  bank,  the  woodman  of  the  swamp 
Has  laid  his  axe,  the  reaper  of  the  hill 
His  sickle,  as  they  stooped  to  taste  thy  stream. 
The  sportsman,  tired  with  wandering  in  the  still 
September  noon,  has  bathed  his  heated  brow  105 

In  thy  cool  current.     Shouting  boys,  let  loose 
For  a  wild  holiday,  have  °quaintly  shaped 
Into  a  cup  the  folder  °linden  leaf, 


THE  FOUNTAIN  143 

And  dipped  thy  sliding  crystal.     From  the  wars 

Returning,  the  plumed  soldier  by  thy  side  no 

Has  sat,  and  mused  how  pleasant  'twere  to  dwell 

In  such  a  spot,  and  be  as  free  as  thou, 

And  move  for  no  man's  bidding  more.     At  eve, 

When  thou  wert  crimson  with  the  crimson  sky, 

Lovers  have  gazed  upon  thee,  and  have  thought       115 

Their  mingled  lives  should  flow  as  peacefully 

And  brightly  as  thy  waters.     Here  the  sage, 

Gazing  into  thy  self-replenished  depth, 

Has  seen  eternal  order  circumscribe 

And  bind  the  motions  of  eternal  change,  120 

And  from  the  gushing  of  thy  simple  fount 

Has  reasoned  to  the  mighty  universe. 

Is  there  no  other  change  for  thee,  that  lurks 
Among  the  future  ages  ?     Will  not  man 
Seek  out  strange  arts  to  wither  and  deform  125 

The  pleasant  landscape  which  thou  makest  green  ? 
Or  shall  the  veins  that  feed  thy  constant  stream 
Be  choked  in  middle  earth,  and  flow  no  more 
For  ever,  that  the  water-plants  along 
Thy  channel  perish,  and  the  bird  in  vain  130 

Alight  to  drink  ?     Haply  shall  these  green  hills 
Sink,  with  the  lapse  of  years,  into  the  °gulf 
Of  ocean  waters,  and  thy  source  be  lost 
Amidst  the  bitter  brine  ?     Or  shall  they  rise, 
Upheaved  in  broken  cliffs  and  airy  peaks,  135 

Haunts  of  the  eagle  and  the  snake,  and  thou 
Gush  midway  from  the  bare  and  barren  steep  ? 


144  LATER  POEMS 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  COUNSEL 

I  remember  hearing  an  aged  man,  in  the  country,  compare  the  slow 
movement  of  time  in  early  life  and  its  swift  flight  as  it  approaches  old 
age,  to  the  drumming  of  a  partridge  or  ruffed  grouse  in  the  woods  — 
the  strokes  falling  slow  and  distinct  at  first,  and  following  each  other 
more  and  more  rapidly,  till  they  end  at  last  in  a  whirring  sound.  — 
WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

AMONG  our  hills  and  valleys,  I  have  known 
Wise  and  grave  men,  who,  while  their  diligent  hands 
Tended  or  gathered  in  the  fruits  of  earth, 
Were  reverent  learners  in  the  solemn  school 
Of  nature.     Not  in  vain  to  them  were  sent  5 

Seed-time  and  harvest,  or  the  °vernal  shower 
That  darkened  the  brown  °tilth,  or  snow  that  beat 
On  the  white  winter  hills.     Each  brought,  in  turn, 
Some  truth,  some  lesson  on  the  life  of  man, 
Or  recognition  of  the  Eternal  mind  10 

Who  veils  his  glory  with  the  elements. 

One  such  I  knew  long  since,  a  white-haired  man, 
°Pithy  of  speech,  and  merry  when  he  would; 
A  genial  °optimist,  who  daily  drew 
From  what  he  saw  his  quaint  moralities.  15 

Kindly  he  held  communion,  though  so  old, 
With  me  a  dreaming  boy,  and  taught  me  much 
That  books  tell  not,  and  I  shall  ne'er  forget. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S   COUNSEL  145 

The  sun  of  May  was  bright  in  °middle  heaven, 
And  steeped  the  sprouting  forests,  the  green  hills,         20 
And  emerald  wheat-field  in  his  yellow  light. 
Upon  the  apple-tree,  where  rosy  buds 
Stood  clustered,  ready  to  burst  forth  in  bloom, 
The  robin  warbled  forth  his  full  clear  note 
For  hours,  and  wearied  not.     Within  the  woods,  25 

Whose  young  and  half-transparent  leaves  scarce  cast 
A  shade,  gay  circles  of  anemones 
Danced   on    their    stalks;  the  °shadbush,    white   with 

flowers, 

Brightened  the  glens ;  the  new-leaved  butternut 
And  quivering  poplar  to  the  roving  breeze  30 

Gave  a  balsamic  fragrance.     In  the  fields 
I  saw  the  °pulses  of  the  gentle  wind 
On  the  young  grass.     My  heart  was  touched  with  joy 
At  so  much  beauty,  flushing  every  hour 
Into  a  fuller  beauty ;  but  my  friend,  35 

The  thoughtful  °ancient,  standing  at  my  side, 
Gazed  on  it  mildly  sad.     I  asked  him  why. 

"Well  mayst  thou  join  in  gladness/'  he  replied, 
"  With  the  glad  earth,  her  springing  plants"  and  flowers, 
And  this  soft  wind,  the  herald  of  the  green  40 

Luxuriant  summer.     Thou  art  young  like  them, 
And  well  mayst  thou  rejoice.     But  while  the  flight 
Of  seasons  fills  and  knits  thy  spreading  frame, 
It  withers  mine,  and  thins  my  hair,  and  dims 
These  eyes,  whose  fading  light  shall  soon  be  quenched  45 
In  utter  darkness.     Hearest  thou  that  bird?" 


146  LATER  POEMS 

I  listened,  and  from  midst  the  depth  of  woods 
Heard  the  love-signal  of  the  grouse,  that  wears 
A  sable  ruff  around  his  mottled  neck ; 
Partridge  they  call  him  by  our  northern  streams,          50 
And  pheasant  by  the  Delaware.     He  beat 
'Gainst  his  barred  sides  his  speckled  wings,  and  made 
A  sound  like  distant  thunder;  slow  the  strokes 
At  first,  then  fast  and  faster,  till  at  length 
They  passed  into  a  murmur  and  were  still.  55 


"There  hast  thou,"  said  my  friend,  "a  fitting  type 
Of  human  life.     Tis  an  old  truth,  I  know, 
But  images  like  these  revive  the  power 
Of  long  familiar  truths.     Slow  pass  our  days 
In  childhood,  and  the  hours  of  light  are  long  60 

Betwixt  the  morn  and  eve;  with  swifter  lapse 
They  glide  in  manhood,  and  in  age  they  fly; 
Till  days  and  seasons  flit  before  the  mind 
As  flit  the  snow-flakes  in  a  winter  storm, 
Seen  rather  than  distinguished.     Ah  !  I  seem  65 

As  if  I  sat  within  a  helpless  bark 
By  swiftly  running  waters  hurried  on 
To  shoot  some  mighty  cliff.     Along  the  banks 
Grove  after  grove,  rock  after  frowning  -rock, 
Bare  sands  and  pleasant  homes,  and  flowery  nooks,      70 
And  isles  and  whirlpools  in  the  stream,  appear 
Each  after  each,  but  the  °devoted  skiff 
Darts  by  so  swiftly  that  their  images 
Dwell  not  upon  the  mind,  or  only  dwell 


AN  EVENING  REVERT  147 

In  dim  confusion ;  faster  yet  I  sweep  75 

By  other  banks,  and  the  great  gulf  is  near. 

"  Wisely,  my  son,  while  yet  thy  days  are  long, 
And  this  fair  change  of  seasons  passes  slow, 
Gather  and  treasure  up  the  good  they  yield  - 
All  that  they  teach  of  virtue,  of  pure  thoughts  80 

And  kind  affections,  reverence  for  thy  God 
And  for  thy  brethren;  so  when  thou  shalt  come 
Into  these  barren  years,  thou  mayst  not  bring 
A  mind  unfurnished  and  a  withered  heart." 

Long  since  that  white-haired  ancient  slept — but  still,  85 
When  the  red  flower-buds  crowd  the  orchard  bough, 
And  the  ruffed  grouse  is  drumming  far  within 
The  woods,  his  ° venerable  form  again 
Is  at  my  side,  his  voice  is  in  my  ear. 


AN  EVENING  REVERY 

This  poem  and  that  entitled  "  The  Fountain"  with  one  or  two  others 
in  blank  verse,  were  intended  by  the  author  as  portions  of  a  larger 
poem.  —  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

THE  summer  day  is  closed  —  the  sun  is  set : 
Well  they  have  done  their  °office,  those  bright  hours, 
The  latest  of  whose  train  goes  softly  out 
In  the  red  West.     The  green  blade  of  the  ground 
Has  risen,  and  herds  have  cropped  it;  the  young  twig  5 


148  LATER  POEMS 

Has  spread  its  °plaited  tissues  to  the  sun; 

Flowers  of  the  garden  and  the  waste  have  blown 

And  withered ;  seeds  have  fallen  upon  the  soil, 

From  bursting  cells,  and  in  their  graves  await 

Their  resurrection.     Insects  from  the  pools  K 

Have  filled  the  air  awhile  with  humming  wings, 

That  now  are  still  for  ever;   °painted  moths 

Have  wandered  the  blue  sky,  and  died  again; 

The  mother-bird  hath  broken  for  her  brood 

Their  prison  shell,  or  shoved  them  from  the  nest,       15 

Plumed  for  their  earliest  flight.     In  bright  °alcoves, 

In  woodland  cottages  with  barky  walls, 

In  °noisome  cells  of  the  tumultuous  town, 

Mothers  have  clasped  with  joy  the  new-born  babe. 

Graves  by  the  lonely  forest,  by  the  shore  20 

Of  rivers  and  of  ocean,  by  the  ways 

Of  the  thronged  city,  have  been  hollowed  out 

And  filled,  and  closed.     This  day  hath  parted  friends 

That  ne;er  before  were  parted ;  it  hath  knit 

New  friendships;  it  hath  seen  the  maiden  plight       25 

Her  faith,  and  trust  her  peace  to  him  who  long 

Had  wooed;  and  it  hath  heard,  from  lips  which  late 

Were  eloquent  of  love,  the  first  harsh  word, 

That  told  the  wedded  one  her  peace  was  flown. 

Farewell  to  the  sweet  sunshine  !     One  glad  day         30 

Is  added  now  to  Childhood 's  merry  days, 

And  one  calm  day  to  those  of  quiet  Age. 

Still  the  fleet  hours  run  on ;   and  as  I  lean, 

Amid  the  thickening  darkness,  lamps  are  lit, 

By  those  who  watch  the  dead,  and  those  who  twine  35 


AN  EVENING  RE  VERY  149 

Flowers  for  the  bride.     The  mother  from  the  eyes 
Of  her  sick  infant  shades  the  painful  light, 
And  sadly  listens  to  his  quick-drawn  breath. 

Oh  thou  great  Movement  of  the  Universe, 
Or  Change,  or  Flight  of  Time  —  for  ye  are  one  I         40 
That  bearest,  silently,  this  visible  scene 
Into  night's  shadow  and  the  streaming  rays 
Of  starlight,  whither  art  thou  bearing  me  ? 
I  feel  the  mighty  current  sweep  me  on, 
Yet  know  not  whither.     Man  foretells  afar  45 

The  courses  of  the  stars ;  the  very  hour 
He  knows  when  they  shall  darken  or  grow  bright ; 
Yet  doth  the  eclipse  of  Sorrow  and  of  Death 
Come  unforewarned.     Who  next,  of  those  I  love, 
Shall  pass  from  life,  or,  sadder  yet,  shall  fall  50 

From  virtue  ?     Strife  with  foes,  or  bitterer  strife 
With  friends,  or  shame  and  general  scorn  of  men  — 
Which  who  can  bear  ?  —  or  the  fierce  rack  of  pain, 
Lie  they  within  my  path  ?     Or  shall  the  years 
Push  me,  with  soft  and  inoffensive  pace,  55 

Into  the  stilly  twilight  of  my  age  ? 
Or  do  the  portals  of  another  life 
Even  now,  °while  I  am  glorying  in  my  strength, 
°Impend  around  me  ?     Oh  !  beyond  that  °bourne, 
In  the  vast  cycle  of  being  which  begins  6c 

At  that  broad  threshold,  with  what  fairer  forms 
Shall  the  great  law  of  change  and  progress  clothe 
Its  workings  ?    Gently  —  so  have  good  men  taught  — 
Gently,  and  without  grief,  the  old  shall  glide 


150  LATER  POEMS 

Into  the  new ;  the  eternal  flow  of  things,  65 

Like  a  bright  river  of  the  fields  of  heaven, 
Shall  journey  onward  in  perpetual  peace. 


THE  ANTIQUITY  OF  FREEDOM 

HERE  are  old  trees,  tall  oaks  and  gnarled  pines, 
That  stream  with  gray-green  mosses ;  here  the  ground 
Was  never  trenched  by  spade,  and  flowers  spring  up 
Unsown,  and  die  ungathered.     It  is  sweet 
To  linger  here,  among  the  flitting  birds  5 

And  leaping  squirrels,  wandering  brooks,  and  winds 
That  shake  the  leaves,  and  scatter,  as  they  pass, 
A  fragrance  from  the  cedars,  thickly  set 
With  pale  blue  berries.     In  these  peaceful  shades  — 
Peaceful,  unpruned,  immeasurably  old  —  10 

My  thoughts  go  up  the  long  dim  path  of  years, 
Back  to  the  earliest  days  of  liberty. 

Oh  FREEDOM  !  thou  art  not,  as  poets  dream, 
A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 
And  wavy  tresses  gushing  from  the  cap  15 

With  which  the  Roman  master  crowne.d  his  slave 
When  he  took  off  the  °gy ves.  j  A  bearded  man, 
°Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou;   one  mailed  hand 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword;   thy  brow, 
Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarred  20 

With  tokens  of  old  wars ;  thy  massive  limbs 


THE  ANTIQUITY  OF  FREEDOM  151 

Are  strong  with  struggling.     Power  at  thee  has  launched 

His  bolts,  and  with  his  lightnings  smitten  thee ; 

They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from  heaven. 

Merciless  power  has  dug  thy  dungeon  deep,  25 

And  his  °swart  armorers,  by  a  thousand  fires, 

Have  forged  thy  chain;  yet,  while  he  deems  thee  bound, 

The  links  are  shivered,  and  the  prison  walls 

Fall  outward ;  terribly  thou  springest  forth, 

As  springs  the  flame  above  a  burning  pile,  30 

And  shoutest  to  the  nations,  who  return 

Thy  shoutings,  while  the  pale  oppressor  flies. 

Thy  birthright  was  not  given  by  human  hands : 
Thou  wert  twin-born  with  man.     In  pleasant  fields, 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  sat'st  with  him,         35 
To  tend  the  quiet  flock  and  watch  the  stars, 
And  teach  the  reed  to  utter  simple  airs. 
Thou  by  his  side,  amid  the  tangled  wood, 
Didst  war  upon  the  panther  and  the  wolf, 
His  only  foes ;   and  thou  with  him  didst  draw  40 

The  earliest  furrows  on  the  mountain  side, 
Soft  with  the  °deluge.     Tyranny  himself, 
Thy  enemy,  although  of  reverend  look, 
Hoary  with  many  years,  and  far  obeyed, 
Is  later  born  than  thou;  and  as  he  meets  45 

The  grave  defiance  of  thine  elder  eye, 
The  usurper  trembles  in  his  fastnesses. 

Thou  shalt  wax  stronger  with  the  lapse  of  years, 
But  he  shall  fade  into  a  feebler  age; 


152  LATER  POEMS 

Feebler,  yet  subtler.     He  shall  weave  his  snares,  50 

And  spring  them  on  thy  careless  steps,  and  clap 

His  withered  hands,  and  from  their  ambush  call 

His  hordes  to  fall  upon  thee.     He  shall  send 

°Quaint  maskers,  wearing  fair  and  gallant  forms, 

To  catch  thy  gaze,  and  uttering  graceful  words  55 

To  charm  thy  ear;  while  his  sly  imps,  by  stealth, 

Twine  round  thee  threads  of  steel,  light  thread  on  thread 

That  grow  to  fetters ;   or  bind  down  thy  arms 

With  chains  concealed  in°chaplets.     Oh  !  not  yet 

Mayst  thou  °unbrace  thy  corslet,  nor  lay  by  60 

Thy  sword ;  nor  yet,  O  Freedom !  close  thy  lids 

In  slumber;  for  thine  enemy  never  sleeps, 

And  thou  must  watch  and  combat  till  the  day 

Of  the  new  earth  and  heaven.     But  wouldst  thou  rest 

Awhile  from  tumult  and  the  frauds  of  men,  65 

These  old  and  friendly  solitudes  invite 

Thy  visit.     They,  while  yet  the  forest  trees 

Were  young  upon  the  unviolated  earth, 

And  yet  the  moss-stains  on  the  rock  were  new, 

Beheld  thy  glorious  childhood,  and  rejoiced.  70 


A  HYMN  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  sea  is  mighty,  but  a  mightier  sways 
His  restless  billows.     Thou,  whose  hands  have  scooped 
His  boundless  gulfs  and  built  his  shore,  thy  breath, 
That  moved  in  the  beginning  o'er  his  face, 


A  HYMN  OF  THE  SEA  153 

Moves  o'er  it  evermore.     The  obedient  waves  5 

To  its  strong  motion  roll,  and  rise  and  fall. 

Still  from  that  realm  of  rain  thy  cloud  goes  up, 

As  at  the  first,  to  water  the  great  earth, 

And  keep  her  valleys  green.     A  hundred  realms 

Watch  its  broad  shadow  °warping  on  the  wind,  10 

And  in  the  dropping  shower,  with  gladness  hear 

Thy  promise  of  the  harvest.     I  look  forth 

Over  the  boundless  blue,  where  joyously 

The  bright  crests  of  innumerable  waves 

Glance  to  the  sun  at  once,  as  when  the  hands  15 

Of  a  great  multitude  are  upward  flung 

In  acclamation.     I  beheld  the  ships 

Gliding  from  cape  to  cape,  from  isle  to  isle, 

Or  °stemming  toward  far  lands,  or  hastening  home 

From  the  old  world.     It  is  thy  friendly  breeze  20 

That  bears  them,  with  the  riches  of  the  land, 

And  treasure  of  dear  lives,  till,  in  the  port, 

The  shouting  seaman  climbs  and  furls  the  sail. 

°But  who  shall  bide  thy  tempest,  who  shall  face 
The  blast  that  wakes  the  fury  of  the  sea  ?  25 

Oh  God  !  thy  justice  makes  the  world  turn  pale, 
When  on  the  armed  fleet,  that  royally 
Bears  down  the  surges,  carrying  war,  to  smite 
Some  city,  or  invade  some  °thoughtless  realm, 
Descends  the  fierce  tornado.     The  vast  hulks  30 

Are  whirled  like  chaff  upon  the  waves ;  the  sails 
Fly,  rent  like  webs  of  gossamer;   the  masts 
Are  snapped  asunder;  downward  from  the  decks, 


154  LATER  POEMS 

Downward  are  slung,  into  the  fathomless  gulf, 

Their  cruel  °engines ;   and  their  hosts,  arrayed  35 

In  trappings  of  the  battle-field,  are  °whelmed 

By  whirlpools,  or  dashed  dead  upon  the  rocks. 

Then  stand  the  nations  still  with  awe,  and  pause, 

A  moment,  from  the  bloody  work  of  war. 

These  restless  surges  eat  away  the  shores  40 

Of  earth's  old  continents ;   the  fertile  plain 
°Welters  in  shallows,  headlands  crumble  down, 
And  the  tide  drifts  the  sea-sand  in  the  streets 
Of  the  drowned  city.     Thou,  meanwhile,  afar 
In  the  green  chambers  of  the  °middle  sea,  45 

Where  broadest  spread  the  waters  and  the  °line 
Sinks  deepest,  while  no  eye  beholds  thy  work, 
Creator  !  thou  dost  teach  the  coral  worm 
To  lay  his  mighty  reefs.     From  age  to  age, 
He  builds  beneath  the  waters,  till,  at  last,  50 

His  bulwarks  overtop  the  brine,  and  check 
The  long  wave  rolling  from  the  southern  pole 
To  break  upon  Japan.     Thou  bid'st  the  fires, 
That  smoulder  under  ocean,  heave  on  high 
The  new-made  mountains,  and  uplift  their  peaks,          55 
A  place  of  refuge  for  the  storm-driven  bird. 
The  birds  and  wafting  billows  plant  the  rifts 
With  herb  and  tree ;   sweet  fountains  gush ;   sweet  airs 
Ripple  the  °living  lakes  that,  fringed  with  flowers, 
Are  gathered  in  the  hollows.     Thou  dost  look  60 

On  thy  creation  and  pronounce  it  good. 
Its  valleys,  glorious  with  their  summer  green, 


THE   CROWDED   STREET  155 

Praise  thee  in  silent  beauty,  and  its  woods, 
Swept  by  the  murmuring  winds  of  ocean,  join 
The  murmuring  shores  in  a  perpetual  hymn.  65 


THE  CROWDED  STREET 

LET  me  move  slowly  through  the  street, 

Filled  with  an  ever-shifting  train, 
Amid  the  sound  of  steps  that  beat 

The  murmuring  walks  like  autumn  rain. 

How  fast  the  flitting  figures  come !  5 

The  mild,  the  fierce,  the  stony  face; 

Some  bright  with  thoughtless  smiles,  and  some 
Where  secret  tears  have  left  their  trace. 

They  pass  —  to  toil,  to  strife,  to  rest; 

To  halls  in  which  the  feast  is  spread;  10 

To  chambers  where  the  funeral  guest 

In  silence  sits  beside  the  dead. 

And  some  to  happy  homes  repair, 

Where  children,  pressing  cheek  to  cheek, 

With  mute  caresses  shall  declare  15 

The  tenderness  they  cannot  speak. 

And  some,  who  walk  in  calmness  here, 
Shall  shudder  as  they  reach  the  door 

Where  one  who  made  their  dwelling  dear, 

Its  flower,  its  light,  is  seen  no  more.  20 


156  LATER  POEMS 

Youth,  with  pale  cheek  and  slender  frame, 
And  dreams  of  greatness  in  thine  eye  ! 

Goest  thou  to  build  an  early  name, 
Or  early  in  the  task  to  die  ? 

Keen  son  of  trade,  with  eager  brow !  25 

Who  is  now  fluttering  in  thy  snare  ? 

Thy  golden  fortunes,  tower  they  now, 
Or  melt  the  glittering  spires  in  air  ? 

Who  of  this  crowd  to-night  shall  tread 

The  dance  till  daylight  gleam  again  ?  30 

Who  sorrow  o'er  the  untimely  dead  ? 
Who  writhe  in  throes  of  mortal  pain  ? 

Some,  famine-struck,  shall  think  how  long 
The  cold  dark  hours,  how  slow  the  light, 

And  some,  who  flaunt  amid  the  throng,  35 

Shall  hide  in  dens  of  shame  to-night. 

Each,  where  his  tasks  or  pleasures  call, 
They  pass,  and  heed  each  other  not. 

There  is  who  heeds,  who  holds  them  all, 

In  his  large  love  and  boundless  thought.         4° 

These  struggling  tides  of  life  that  seem 
In  wayward,  aimless  course  to  tend, 

Are  eddies  of  the  mighty  stream 
That  rolls  to  its  appointed  end. 


THE    WHITE-FOOTED  DEER  167 


THE  WHITE-FOOTED  DEER 

During  the  stay  of  Long's  Expedition  at  Engineer  Cantonment, 
three  specimens  of  a  variety  of  the  common  deer  were  brought  in,  hav- 
ing all  the  feet  white  near  the  hoofs,  and  extending  to  those  on  the  hind 
feet  from  a  little  above  the  spurious  hoofs.  This  white  extremity  was 
divided,  upon  the  sides  of  the  foot,  by  the  general  color  of  the  leg, 
which  extends  down  near  to  the  hoofs,  leaving  a  white  triangle  in 
front,  of  which  the  point  was  elevated  rather  higher  than  the  spurious 
hoofs.  —  Godman's  Natural  History,  Vol.  II, p.  314. — WILLIAM  CULLEN 
BRYANT. 

IT  was  a  hundred  years  ago, 

When,  by  the  woodland  ways, 
The  traveller  saw  the  wild  deer  drink, 

Or  crop  the  birchen  sprays. 

Beneath  a  hill,  whose  rocky  side  5 

O'erbrowed  a  grassy  mead, 
And  fenced  a  cottage  from  the  wind, 

A  deer  was  wont  to  feed. 


She  only  came  when  on  the  cliffs 
The  evening  moonlight  lay, 

And  no  man  knew  the  secret  haunts 
In  which  she  walked  by  day. 


158  LATER  POEMS 

White  were  her  feet,  her  forehead  showed 

A  spot  of  silvery  white, 
That  seemed  to  glimmer  like  a  star  15 

In  autumn's  hazy  night. 

And  here,  when  sang  the  whippoorwill, 
She  cropped  the  sprouting  leaves, 

And  here  her  rustling  steps  were  heard 

On  still  October  eves.  20 

But  when  the  broad  midsummer  moon 

Rose  o'er  that  grassy  lawn, 
Beside  the  silver-footed  deer 

There  grazed  a  spotted  fawn. 

The  cottage  dame  forbade  her  son  25 

To  aim  the  rifle  here; 
"  It  were  a  sin,"  she  said,  "  to  harm 

Or  fright  that  friendly  deer. 

"This  spot  has  been  my  pleasant  home 
Ten  peaceful  years  and  more ;  30 

And  ever,  when  the  moonlight  shines, 
She  feeds  before  our  door. 

"The  red  men  say  that  here  she  walked 

A  thousand  moons  ago  ; 
They  never  raise  the  war-whoop  here,  35 

And  never  twang  the  bow. 


THE    WHITE-FOOTED  DEER  159 

"  I  love  to  watch  her  as  she  feeds, 

And  think  that  all  is  well 
While  such  a  gentle  creature  haunts 

The  place  in  which  we  dwell. "  40 

The  youthuobeyed,  and  sought  for  game 

In  forests  far  away, 
Where,  deep  in  silence  and  in  moss, 

The  ancient  woodland  lay. 

But  once,  in  autumn's  golden  time,  45 

He  ranged  the  wild  in  vain, 
Nor  roused  the  pheasant  nor  the  deer, 

And  wandered  home  -again. 

The  crescent  moon  and  crimson  eve 

Shone  with  a  mingling  light;  50 

The  deer,  upon  the  grassy  mead, 

Was  feeding  full  in  sight. 

He  raised  the  rifle  to  his  eye, 

And  from  the  cliffs  around 
A  sudden  echo,  shrill  and  sharp,  55 

Gave  back  its  deadly  sound. 

Away  into  the  neighboring  wood 

The  startled  creature  flew, 
And  crimson  drops  at  morning  lay 

Amid  the  glimmering  dew.  60 


160  LATER  POEMS 

Next  evening  shone  the  waxing  moon 

As  sweetly  as  before; 
The  deer  upon  the  grassy  mead 

Was  seen  again  no  more. 


But  ere  that  crescent  moon  was  old,  65 

By  night  the  red  man  came, 
And  burnt  the  cottage  to  the  ground, 

And  slew  the  vouth  and  dame. 


Now  woods  have  overgrown  the  mead, 

And  hid  the  cliffs  from  sight;  70 

There  shrieks  the  hovering  hawk  at  noon, 
And  prowls  the  fox  at  night. 


THE  WANING  MOON 

I'VE  watched  too  late;  the  morn  is  near; 

One  look  at  God's  broad  silent  sky ! 
Oh,  hopes  and  wishes  vainly  dear, 

How  in  your  very  strength  ye  die ! 


Even  while  your  glow  is  on  the  cheek, 
And  scarce  the  high  pursuit  begun, 

The  heart  grows  faint,  the  hand  grows  weak, 
The  task  of  life  is  left  undone. 


THE   WANING  MOON  161 

See  where  upon  the  horizon's  brim; 

Lies  the  still  cloud  in  gloomy  bars;  10 

The  waning  moon,  all  pale  and  dim, 

Goes  up  amid  the  eternal  stars. 

Late,  in  a  flood  of  tender  light, 

She  floated  through  the  eternal  blue, 

A  softer  sun,  that  shone  all  night  15 

Upon  the  gathering  beads  of  dew. 

And  still  thou  wanest,  pallid  moon ! 

The  encroaching  shadow  grows  apace ; 
Heaven's  everlasting  watchers  soon 

Shall  see  thee  blotted  from  thy  place.  20 

Oh,  Night's  dethroned  and  crownless  queen ! 

Well  may  thy  sad,  expiring  ray 
Be  shed  on  those  whose  eyes  have  seen 

Hope's  glorious  visions  fade  away. 

Shine  thou  for  forms  that  once  were  bright,  25 

For  sages  in  the  mind's  eclipse, 
For  those  whose  words  were  spells  of  might, 

But  falter  now  on  stammering  lips ! 

In  thy  decaying  beam  there  lies 

Full  many  a  grave  on  hill  and  plain,  30 

Of  those  who  closed  their  dying  eyes 

In  grief  that  they  had  lived  in  vain. 


162  LATER  POEMS 

Another  night,  and  thou  among 

The  spheres  of  heaven  shalt  cease  to  shine, 

All  rayless  in  the  glittering  throng  35 

Whose  lustre  late  was  quenched  in  thine. 

Yet  soon  a  new  and  tender  light 

From  out  thy  darkened  orb  shall  beam? 

And  broaden  till  it  shines  all  night 

On  glistening  dew  and  glimmering  stream.          40 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS 

A  MIGHTY  realm  is  the  Land  of  Dreams, 
With  steeps  that  hang  in  the  twilight  sky, 

And  weltering  oceans  and  trailing  streams, 
That  gleam  where  the  dusky  valleys  lie. 

But  over  its  shadowy  border  flow  5 

Sweet  rays  from  the  world  of  endless  morn, 

And  the  nearer  mountains  catch  the  glow, 
And  flowers  in  the  nearer  fields  are  born. 

The  souls  of  the  happy  dead  repair, 

From  their  bowers  of  light,  to  that  bordering  land,  10 
And  walk  in  the  fainter  glory  there, 

With  the  souls  of  the  living  hand  in  hand, 


THE  LAND   OF  DREAMS  163 

One  calm  sweet  smile,  in  that  shadowy  sphere, 
From  eyes  that  open  on  earth  no  more  — 

One  warning  word  from  a  voice  once  dear  —  15 

How  they  rise  in  the  memory  o'er  and  o'er ! 

Far  off  from  those  hills  that  shine  with  day, 
And  fields  that  bloom  in  the  heavenly  gales, 

The  Land  of  Dreams  goes  stretching  away 

To  dimmer  mountains  and  darker  vales.  20 

There  lie  the  chambers  of  guilty  delight, 
There  walk  the  spectres  of  guilty  fear, 

And  soft  low  voices,  that  float  through  the  night, 
Are  whispering  sin  in  the  helpless  ear. 

Dear  maid,  in  thy  girlhood's  opening  flower,  25 

Scarce  weaned  from  the  love  of  childish  play ! 

The  tears  on  whose  cheeks  are  but  the  shower 
That  freshens  the  blooms  of  early  May ! 

Thine  eyes  are  closed,  and  over  thy  brow 

Pass  thoughtful  shadows  and  joyous  gleams,       30 

And  I  know,  by  thy  moving  lips,  that  now 
Thy  spirit  strays  in  the  Land  of  Dreams. 

Light-hearted  maiden,  oh,  heed  thy  feet ! 

O  keep  where  that  beam  of  Paradise  falls : 
And  only  wander  where  thou  mayst  meet  35 

The  blessed  ones  from  its  shining  walls ! 


164  LATER  POEMS 

So  shalt  them  come  from  the  Land  of  Dreams, 
With  love  and  peace  to  this  world  of  strife : 

And  the  light  which  over  that  border  streams 
Shall  lie  on  the  path  of  thy  daily  life.  4c 


THE  PLANTING  OF  THE  APPLE-TREE 

COME,  let  us  plant  the  apple-tree. 
Cleave  the  tough  greensward  with  the  spade; 
Wide  let  its  hollow  bed  be  made; 
There  gently  lay  the  roots,  and  there 
Sift  the  dark  mould  with  kindly  care, 

And  press  it  o'er  them  tenderly, 
As,  round  the  sleeping  infant's  feet, 
We  softly  fold  the  cradle-sheet; 

So  plant  we  the  apple-tree. 


What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ?  10 

Buds,  which  the  breath  of  summer  days 
Shall  lengthen  into  leafy  sprays; 
Boughs  where  the  °thrush,  with  crimson  breast, 
Shall  haunt  and  sing  and  hide  her  nest; 

We  plant,  upon  the  sunny  °lea,  15 

A  shadow  for  the  noontide  hour, 
A  shelter  from  the  summer  shower, 

When  we  plant  the  apple-tree. 


THE  PLANTING   OF  THE  APPLE-TREE  166 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Sweets  for  a  hundred  flowery  springs  20 

To  load  the  May-wind's  restless  wings, 
When,  from  the  orchard-row,  he  pours 
Its  fragrance  through  our  open  doors; 

A  world  of  blossoms  for  the  bee, 
'Flowers  for  the~sick  girl's  silent  room,  25 

For  the  glad  infant  sprigs  of  bloom, 

We  plant  with  the  apple-tree. 

What  plant  we  in  this  apple-tree  ? 
Fruits  that  shall  swell  in  sunny  June, 
And  redden  in  the  August  noon,  30 

And  drop,  when  gentle  airs  come  by, 
That  fan  the  blue  September  sky, 

While  children  come,  with  cries  of  glee, 
And  seek  them  where  the  fragrant  grass 
Betrays  their  bed  to  those  who  pass,  35 

At  the  foot  of  the  apple- tree. » 

And  when,  above  this  apple-tree, 
The  winter  stars  are  quivering  bright, 
And  winds  go  howling  through  the  night, 
Girls,  whose  young  eyes  overflow  with  mirth,          40 
Shall  peel  its  fruit  by  cottage-hearth, 

And  guests  in  prouder  homes  shall  see, 
Heaped  with  the  grape  of  °Cintra's  vine 
And  golden  orange  of  the  line, 

The  fruit  of  the  apple-tree.  45 


166  LATER  POEMS 

The  fruitage  of  this  apple-tree 
Winds  and  our  flag  of  stripe  and  star 
Shall  bear  to  coasts  that  lie  afar, 
Where  men  shall  wonder  at  the  view, 
And  ask  in  what  fair  groves  they  grew; 

And  °sojourners  beyond  the  sea 
Shall  think  of  childhood's  careless  day, 
And  long,  long  hours  of  summer  play, 

In  the  shade  of  the  apple-tree. 

Each  year  shall  give  this  apple-tree 
A  broader  flush  of  roseate  bloom, 
A  deeper  maze  of  verdurous  gloom, 
And  loosen,  when  the  frost-clouds  lower, 
The  crisp  brown  leaves  in  thicker  shower. 

The  years  shall  come  and  pass,  but  we 
Shall  hear  no  longer,  where  we  lie, 
The  summer's  songs,  the  autumn's  sigh, 

In  the  boughs  of  the  apple-tree. 

And  time  shall  waste  this  apple-tree. 
Oh,  when  its  aged  branches  throw 
Thin  shadows  on  the  ground  below, 
Shall  fraud  and  force  and  iron  will 
Oppress  the  weak  and  helpless  still  ? 

What  shall  the  tasks  of  mercy  be, 
Amid  the  toils,  the  strifes,  the  tears 
Of  those  who  live  when  length  of  years 

Is  wasting  this  little  apple-tree  ? 


THE   VOICE  OF  AUTUMN  167 

"°Who  planted  this  old  apple-tree?" 
The  children  of  that  distant  day 
Thus  to  some  aged  man  shall  say;  75 

And,  gazing  on  its  mossy  stem, 
The  gray-haired  man  shall  answer  them : 

"  A  poet  of  the  land  was  he, 
Born  in  the  rude  but  good  old  times ; 
'Tis  said  he  made  some  quaint  old  rhymes,  80 

On  planting  the  apple-tree." 


THE  VOICE  OF   AUTUMN 

THERE  comes,  from  yonder  height, 

A  soft  repining  sound, 
Where  forest-leaves  are  bright, 
And  fall,  like  flakes  of  light, 

To  the  ground.  5 

It  is  the  autumn  breeze, 

That,  lightly  floating  on, 
Just  skims  the  weedy  leas, 
Just  stirs  the  glowing  trees, 

And  is  gone.  10 

He  moans  by  sedgy  brook, 

And  visits,  with  a  sigh, 
The  last  pale  flowers  that  look, 
From  out  their  sunny  nook, 

At  the  sky.  15 


168  LATER  POEMS 

O'er  shouting  children  flies 
That  light  October  wind, 
And,  kissing  cheeks  and  eyes, 
He  leaves  their  merry  cries 

Far  behind,  20 

And  wanders  on  to  make 
That  soft  uneasy  sound 
By  distant  wood  and  lake, 
Where  distant  fountains  break 

From  the  ground.  25 

No  bower  where  maidens  dwell 

Can  win  a  moment's  stay ; 
Nor  fair  untrodden  dell  ; 
He  sweeps  the  upland  swell, 

And  away !  30 

Mourn'st  thou  thy  homeless  state  ? 

O  soft,  repining  wind  ! 
That  early  seek'st  and  late 
The  rest  it  is  thy  fate 

Not  to  find.  35 

Not  on  the  mountain's  breast, 

Not  on  the  ocean's  shore, 
In  all  the  East  and  West : 
The  wind  that  stops  to  rest 

Is  no  rnor§,  ^ 


THE  SNOW-SHOWER  169 

By  valleys,  woods,  and  springs, 

No  wonder  thou  shouldst  grieve 
For  all  the  glorious  things 
Thou  touchest  with  thy  wings 

And  must  leave.  45 


°THE  SNOW-SHOWER 

'•>  STAND  here  by  my  side  and  turn,  I  pray, 

On  the  lake  below  thy  gentle  eyes ; 
The  clouds  hang  over  it,  heavy  and  gray, 

And  dark  and  silent  the  water  lies; 
And  out  of  that  frozen  mist  the  snow  5 

In  wavering  flakes  begins  to  flow ; 

Flake  after  flake 
They  sink  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

;  See  how  in  a  living  swarm  they  come 

From  the  chambers  beyond  that  misty  veil ;       10 
Some  hover  awhile  in  air,  and  some 

Rush  °prone  from  the  sky  like  summer  hail. 
/  All,  dropping  swiftly  or  settling  slow, 
(  Meet,  and  are  still  in  the  depths  below; 

Flake  after  flake  15 

Dissolved  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Here  delicate  °snow-stars,  out  of  the  cloud, 

Come  floating  downward  in  airy  play, 
Like  spangles  dropped  from  the  glistening  crowd 


170  LATER  POEMS 

That  whiten  by  night  the  °milky  way;  20 

There  broader  and  °burlier  masses  fall ; 
The  sullen  water  buries  them  all  — 

Flake  after  flake  — 
All  drowned  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

And  some,  as  on  tender  wings  they  glide  25 

From  their  chilly  birth-cloud,  dim  and  gray, 

Are  joined  in  their  fall,  and,  side  by  side, 
Come  clinging  along  their  unsteady  way; 

As  friend  with  friend,  or  husband  with  wife, 

Makes  hand  in  hand  the  passage  of  life;  30 

Each  mated  flake 

Soon  sinks  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Lo  !  while  we  are  gazing,  in  swifter  haste 
Stream  down  the  snows,  till  the  air  is  white, 

As,  myriads  by  myriads  madly  chased,  35 

They  fling  themselves  from  their  shadowy  height. 

The  fair,  frail  creatures  of  °middle  sky, 

What  speed  they  make,  with  their  grave  so  nigh; 
Flake  after  flake, 

To  lie  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake !  40 


I  see  in  thy  gentle  eyes  a  tear; 

They  turn  to  me  in  sorrowful  thought; 
Thou  thinkest  of  friends,  the  good  and  dear, 

Who  were  for  a  time,  and  now  are  not; 
Like  these  fair  children  of  cloud  and  frost,  45 


ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN  171 

That  glisten  a  moment  and  then  are  lost, 

Flake  after  flake  — 
All  lost  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Yet  look  again,  for  the  clouds  divide; 

A  gleam  of  blue  on  the  water  lies ;  50 

And  far  away,  on  the  mountain-side, 

A  sunbeam  falls  from  the  opening  skies, 
But  the  hurrying  host  that  flew  between 
The  cloud  and  the  water,  no  more  is  seen; 

Flake  after  flake,  55 

At  rest  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

°ROBERT  OF   LINCOLN 

MERRILY  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  5 

Spink,  spank,  spink; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest,  10 

°Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding-coat ; 

White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note : 


172  LATER  POEMS 

Bob-oMink,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink;  15 

Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine, 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  °Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  °with  plain  brown  wings,     20 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings : 
Bob-o;-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink; 

Brood,  kind  creature;  you  need  not  fear  25 

Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he,  30 

Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o;-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man ; 

Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can !  35 

Chee,  chee,  chee.' 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 

There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might :  40 


ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN  173 

Bob-o7-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 

Chee,  chee,  chee.  45 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 
Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 
Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  50 

Spink,  spank,  spink; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made  55 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink;  60 

Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes;  the  children  are  grown; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows;  65 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  °humdrum  crone; 

Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 


174  LATER  POEMS 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink; 

When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain,          70 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  SOWER  175 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SOWER 


THE  maples  redden  in  the  sun ; 

In  autumn  gold  the  beeches  stand ; 
Rest,  faithful  plough,  thy  work  is  done 

Upon  the  °teeming  land. 

Bordered  with  trees  whose  gay  leaves  fly  5 

On  every  breath  that  sweeps  the  sky, 
The  fresh  dark  acres  furrowed  lie, 

And  ask  the  sower's  hand. 
Loose  the  tired  steer  and  let  him  go 
To  pasture  where  the  gentians  blow,  10 

And  we,  who  till  the  grateful  ground, 
Fling  we  the  golden  shower  around. 

ii 

Fling  wide  the  generous  grain ;  we  fling 

O'er  the  dark  mould  the  green  of  spring. 

For  thick  the  emerald  blades  shall  grow,  15 

When  first  the  March  winds  melt  the  snow, 

And  to  the  sleeping  flowers,  below, 

The  early  bluebirds  sing. 
Fling  wide  the  grain ;   we  give  the  fields 
The  ears  that  nod  in  summer's  gale,  20 


176  LATER  POEMS 

The  shining  stems  that  summer  gilds, 
The  harvest  that  overflows  the  vale, 
And  swells,  an  amber  sea,  between 
The  full-leaved  woods,  its  shores  of  green. 
Hark  !  from  the  murmuring  clods  I  hear  25 

Glad  voices  of  the  coming  year; 
The  song  of  him  who  binds  the  grain, 
The  shout  of  those  that  load  the  °wain, 
And  from  the  distant  °grange  there  comes 

The  clatter  of  the  thresher's  flail,  30 

And  steadily  the  millstone  hums 
Down  in  the  willowy  vale. 


in 

Fling  wide  the  golden  shower;  we  trust 

The  strength  of  armies  to  the  dust. 

This  peaceful  °lea  may  haply  yield  35 

Its  harvest  for  the  tented  field. 

Ha !  feel  ye  not  your  fingers  thrill, 

As  o'er  them,  in  the  yellow  grains, 
Glide  the  warm  drops  of  blood  that  fill, 

For  mortal  strife,  the  warrior's  veins;  40 

Such  as,  on  °Solferino's  day, 
Slaked  the  brown  sand  and  flowed  away  — 
Flowed  till  the  herds,  on  °Mincio's  brink, 
Snuffed  the  red  stream  and  feared  to  drink ;  — 
Blood  that  in  deeper  pools  shall  lie,  45 

On  the  sad  earth,  as  time  grows  gray. 
When  men  by  deadlier  arts  shall  die. 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  SOWER  177 

And  deeper  darkness  blot  the  sky 

Above  the  thundering  fray; 
And  realms,  that  hear  the  battle  cry,  5o 

Shall  sicken  with  dismay ; 
And  chieftains  to  the  war  shall  lead 
Whole  nations,  with  the  tempest's  speed, 

To  perish  in  a  day ;  — 

Till  man,  by  love  and  mercy  taught,  55 

Shall  °rue  the  wreck  his  fury  wrought, 

And  lay  the  sword  away. 
Oh  strew,  with  pausing,  shuddering  hand, 
The  seed  upon  the  helpless  land, 
As  if,  at  every  step,  ye  cast  60 

The  pelting  hail  and  riving  blast. 


IV 

Nay,  strew,  with  free  and  joyous  sweep, 

The  seed  upon  the  expecting  soil; 
For  hence  the  plenteous  year  shall  heap 

The  garners  of  the  men  who  toil.  65 

Strew  the  bright  seed  for  those  who  tear 
The  °matted  sward  with  spade  and  share, 
And  those  whose  sounding  axes  gleam 
Beside  the  lonely  forest  stream, 

Till  its  broad  banks  lie  bare;  70 

And  him  who  breaks  the  quarry-ledge, 

With  hammer-blows,  plied  quick  and  strong, 
And  him  who,  with  the  steady  sledge, 

Smites  the  shrill  anvil  all  day  long. 


LATER  POEMS 

Sprinkle  the  furrow's  even  trace  75 

For  those  whose  toiling  hands  uprear 
The  °roof-trees  of  our  swarming  race, 

By  grove  and  plain,  by  stream  and  °mere  ; 
Who  forth,  from  crowded  city,  lead 

The  lengthening  street,  and  overlay  80 

Green  orchard-plot  and  grassy  mead 

With  pavement  of  the  murmuring  way. 
Cast,  with  full  hands  the  harvest  cast, 
For  the  brave  men  that  climb  the  mast, 
When  to  the  billow  and  the  blast  85 

It  swings  and  stoops,  with  fearful  strain, 
And  bind  the  fluttering  mainsail  fast, 

Till  the  tossed  bark  shall  sit,  again, 
Safe  as  a  sea-bird  on  the  main. 


Fling  wide  the  grain  for  those  who  throw  90 

The  clanking  shuttle  to  and  fro, 
In  the  long  row  of  humming  rooms, 

And  into  ponderous  masses  wind 
The  web  that,  from  a  thousand  looms, 

Comes  forth  to  clothe  mankind.  95 

Strew,  with  free  sweep,  the  grain  for  them, 

By  whom  the  busy  thread 
Along  the  garment's  even  hem 

And  winding  seam  is  led; 
A  pallid  sisterhood,  that  keep  100 

The  lonely  lamp  alight, 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  SOWER  179 

In  strife  with  weariness  and  sleep, 

Beyond  the  middle  night. 
Large  part  be  theirs  in  what  the  year 
Shall  ripen  for  the  reaper  here.  105 

VI 

Still,  strew,  with  joyous  hand,  the  wheat 
On  the  soft  mould  beneath  our  feet, 

For  even  now  I  seem 
To  hear  a  sound  that  lightly  rings 
From  murmuring  harp  and  viol's  strings,  no 

As  in  a  summer  dream. 
The  welcome  of  the  wedding  guest, 

The  bridegroom's  look  of  bashful  pride, 

The  faint  smile  of  the  pallid  bride, 
And  bridemaid's  blush  at  matron's  jest,  115 

And  dance  and  song  and  generous  °dower, 
Are  in  the  shining  grains  we  shower. 

VII 

Scatter  the  wheat  for  shipwrecked  men, 
Who,  hunger-worn,  rejoice  again 

In  the  sweet  safety  of  the  shore,  120 

And  wanderers,  lost  in  woodlands  drear, 
Whose  pulses  bound  with  joy  to  hear 

The  herd's  light  bell  once  more. 

Freely  the  golden  spray  be  shed 
For  him  whose  heart,  when  night  comes  down      125 
On  the  close  °alleys  of  the  town, 


180  LATER   POEMS 

Is  faint  for  lack  of  bread. 
In  chill  °roof  chambers,  bleak  and  bare, 
Or  damp  the  cellar's  stifling  air, 
She  who  now  sees,  in  mute  despair,  130 

Her  children  pine  for  food, 
Shall  feel  the  dews  of  gladness  start 
To  lids  long  tearless,  and  shall  part 
The  sweet  loaf  with  a  grateful  heart, 

Among  her  thin  pale  brood.  135 

Dear,  kindly  Earth,  whose  breast  we  till ! 
Oh,  for  thy  famished  children,  fill, 

Where'er  the  sower  walks, 
Fill  the  rich  ears  that  shade  the  mould 
With  grain  for  grain,  a  hundredfold,  140 

To  bend  the  sturdy  stalks. 


VIII 

Strew  silently  the  fruitful  seed, 

As  softly  o'er  the  °tilth  ye  tread, 
For  hands  that  delicately  knead 

The  °consecrated  bread  —  145 

The  °mystic  loaf  that  crowns  the  board, 
When,  round  the  table  of  their  Lord, 

Within  a  thousand  temples  set, 
In  memory  of  the  bitter  death 
Of  him  who  taught  at  Nazareth,  150 

His  followers  are  met, 
And  thoughtful  eyes  with  tears  are  wet, 

As  of  the  Holy  One  they  think, 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  SOWER  181 

The  glory  of  whose  rising  yet 

Makes  bright  the  grave's  mysterious  brink.    155 


IX 

Brethren,  the  sower's  task  is  done. 

The  seed  is  in  its  winter  bed. 

Now  let  the  dark  brown  mould  be  spread, 

To  hide  it  from  the  sun, 

And  leave  it  to  the  kindly  care  160 

Of  the  still  earth  and  brooding  air, 
As  When  the  mother,  from  her  breast, 
Lays  the  hushed  babe  apart  to  rest, 
And  shades  its  eyes,  and  waits  to  see 
How  sweet  its  waking  smile  will  be.  165 

The  tempest  now  may  smite,  the  sleet 
All  night  on  the  drowned  furrow  beat, 
And  winds  that,  from  the  cloudy  hold, 
Of  winter  breathe  the  bitter  cold, 
Stiffen  to  stone  the  mellow  mould,  170 

Yet  safe  shall  lie  the  wheat; 
Till,  out  of  heaven's  unmeasured  blue, 

Shall  walk  again  the  °genial  year, 
To  wake  with  warmth  and  nurse  with  dew 

The  germs  we  lay  to  slumber  here.  175 


Oh  blessed  harvest  yet  to  be ! 

Abide  thou  with  the  Love  that  keeps, 


182  LATER  POEMS 

In  its  warm  bosom,  tenderly, 

The  Life  which  wakes  and  that  which  sleeps. 
The  Love  that  leads  the  willing  spheres  180 

Along  the  unending  track  of  years, 
And  watches  o'er  the  sparrow's  nest, 
Shall  brood  above  thy  winter  rest, 
And  raise  thee  from  the  dust,  to  hold 

Light  whisperings  with  the  winds  of  May,          185 
And  fill  thy  °spikes  with  living  gold, 

From  summer's  yellow  ray; 
Then,  as  thy  garners  give  thee  forth, 

On  what  glad  errands  shalt  thou  go, 
Wherever,  o'er  the  waiting  earth,  100 

Roads  wind  and  rivers  flow ! 
The  ancient  East  shall  welcome  thee 
To  mighty  °marts  beyond  the  sea, 
And  they  who  dwell  where  palm  groves  sound 
To  summer  winds  the  whole  year  round,  195 

Shall  watch,  in  gladness,  from  the  shore, 
The  sails  that  bring  thy  glistening  store. 


°NOT  YET 

OH  country,  marvel  of  the  earth ! 

Oh  realm  to  sudden  greatness  grown ! 
The  age  that'  gloried  in  thy  birth, 

Shall  it  behold  thee  overthrown? 


NOT  YET  183 

Shall  traitors  lay  that  greatness  low  ?  5 

No,  land  of  Hope  and  Blessing,  No ! 

And  we,  who  wear  thy  glorious  name, 
Shall  we,  like  cravens,  stand  apart, 

When  those  whom  thou  hast  trusted  aim 

The  death  blow  at  thy  generous  heart  ?  10 

Forth  goes  the  battle-cry,  and  lo ! 

Hosts  rise  in  harness,  shouting,  No  ! 

And  they  who  founded,  in  our  land, 
The  power  that  rules  from  sea  to  sea, 

Bled  they  in  vain,  or  vainly  planned  15 

To  leave  their  country  great  and  free  ? 

Their  sleeping  ashes,  from  below, 

Send  up  the  thrilling  murmur,  No ! 

Knit  they  the  gentle  ties  which  long 

These  sister  States  were  proud  to  wear,  20 

And  forged  the  kindly  links  so  strong 

For  idle  hands  in  sport  to  tear  ? 
For  scornful  hands  aside  to  throw  ? 
No,  by  our  fathers7  memory,  No ! 

Our  humming  marts,  our  iron  ways,  25 

Our  wind-tossed  woods  on  mountain-crest, 

The  hoarse  Atlantic,  with  its  bays, 
The  calm,  broad  Ocean  of  the  West, 

And  Mississippi's  torrent-flow, 

And  loud  Niagara,  answer,  No  !  3o 


184  LATER  POEMS 

Not  yet  the  hour  is  nigh  when  they 
Who  deep  in  °Eld's  dim  twilight  sit, 

Earth's  ancient  kings,  shall  rise  and  say, 
"  Proud  country,  welcome  to  the  °pit ! 

So  soon  art  thou,  like  us,  brought  low  I"  35 

No,  sullen  group  of  shadows,  No  ! 

For  now,  behold,  the  arm  that  gave 

The  victory  in  our  fathers7  day, 
Strong,  as  of  old,  to  guard  and  save  — 

That  mighty  arm  which  none  can  stay  —        40 
On  clouds  above  and  fields  below, 
Writes,  in  men's  sight,  the  answer,  No ! 


°OUR  COUNTRY'S  CALL 

LAY  down  the  axe;  fling  by  the  spade; 

Leave  in  its  track  the  toiling  plough; 
The  rifle  and  the  bayonet-blade 

For  arms  like  yours  were  fitter  now ; 
And  let  the  hands  that  ply  the  pen 

Quit  the  light  task,  and  learn  to  wield 
The  horseman's  °crooked  brand,  and  rein 

The  charger  on  the  battle-field. 

Our  country  calls ;  away  !  away  ! 

To  where  the  blood-stream  blots  the  green. 
Strike  to  defend  the  gentlest  sway 

That  Time  in  all  his  course  has  seen. 


OUR  COUNTRY'S  CALL  185 

See,  from  a  thousand  °coverts  —  see, 

Spring  the  armed  foes  that  haunt  her  track; 

They  rush  to  smite  her  down,  and  we  15 

Must  beat  the  banded  traitors  back. 

Ho  !  sturdy  as  the  oaks  ye  cleave, 

And  moved  as  soon  to  fear  and  flight, 
Men  of  the  glade  and  forest !  leave 

Your  woodcraft  for  the  field  of  fight.  20 

The  arms  that  wield  the  axe  must  pour 

An  iron  tempest  on  the  foe ; 
His  serried  ranks  shall  reel  before 

The  arm  that  lays  the  panther  low. 

And  ye,  who  breast  the  mountain-storm  25 

By  grassy  steep  or  highland  lake, 
Come,  for  the  land  ye  love,  to  form 

A  bulwark  that  no  foe  can  break. 
Stand,  like  your  own  gray  cliffs  that  mock 

The  whirlwind,  stand  in  her  defence;  30 

The  blast  as  soon  shall  move  the  rock 

As  rushing  squadrons  bear  ye  thence. 

And  ye,  whose  homes  are  by  her  grand 

Swift  rivers,  rising  far  away, 
Come  from  the  depth  of  her  green  land,  35 

As  mighty  in  your  march  as  they; 
As  terrible  as  when  the  rains 

Have  swelled  them  over  bank  and  °bourne, 


186  LATER  POEMS 

With  sudden  floods  to  drown  the  plains 

And  sweep  along  the  woods  uptorn.  40 

And  ye,  who  throng,  beside  the  deep, 

Her  ports  and  hamlets  of  the  strand, 
In  number  like  the  waves  that  leap 

On  his  long-murmuring  °marge  of  sand  - 
Come  like  that  deep,  when,  o'er  his  brim,  45 

He  rises,  all  his  floods  to  pour, 
And  flings  the  proudest  barks  that  swim, 

A  helpless  wreck,  against  the  shore ! 

Few,  few  were  they  whose  swords  of  old 

Won  the  fair  land  in  which  we  dwell;  50 

But  we  are  many,  we  who  hold 

The  grim  resolve  to  guard  it  well. 
Strike,  for  that  broad  and  goodly  land, 

Blow  after  blow,  till  men  shall  see 
That  Might  and  Right  move  hand  in  hand,         55 

And  glorious  must  their  triumph  be ! 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE   OF   THE  SNOW  187 


°THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW 

Alice.  —  One  of  your  °old  world  stories,  Uncle  John, 
Such  as  you  tell  us  by  the  winter  fire, 
Till  we  all  wonder  it  is  grown  so  late. 

Uncle  John.  —  The  story  of  the  witch  that  ground  to 

death 

Two  children  in  her  mill,  or  will  you  have  5 

The  tale  of  °Goody  Cutpurse  ? 

Alice.  —  Nay  now,  nay; 

Those  stories  are  too  childish,  Uncle  John, 
Too  childish  even  for  little  Willy  here, 
And  I  am  older,  two  good  years,  than  he ; 
No,  let  us  have  a  tale  of  °elves  that  ride,  10 

By  night,  with  jingling  reins,  or  °gnomes  of  the  mine, 
Or  °water-fairies,  such  as  you  know  how 
To  spin,  till  Willy's  eyes  forget  to  wink, 
And  good  Aunt  Mary,  busy  as  she  is, 
Lays  down  her  knitting. 

Uncle  John.  —  Listen  to  me,  then.  15 

°'Twas  in  the  olden  time,  long,  long  ago, 
Arid  long  before  the  great  oak  at  our  door 
Was  yet  an  acorn,  on  a  mountain's  side 
Lived,  with  his  wife,  a  cottager.     They  dwelt 
Beside  a  glen  and  near  a  dashing  brook,  20 


188  LATER  POEMS 

A  pleasant  spot  in  spring,  where  first  the  wren 
Was  heard  to  chatter,  and,  among  the  grass, 
Flowers  opened  earliest;   °but  when  winter  came, 
That  little  brook  was  fringed  with  other  flowers,  - 
White  flowers,  with  crystal  leaf  and  stem,  that  grew       25 
In  clear  November  nights.     And,  later  still, 
That  mountain  glen  was  filled  with  drifted  snows 
From  side  to  side,  that  one  might  walk  across ; 
While,  many  a  fathom  deep,  below,  the  brook 
Sang  to  itself,  and  leaped  and  °trotted  on  30 

Unfrozen,  o'er  its  pebbles,  toward  the  vale. 

Alice.  —  A  mountain's  side,  you  said ;   the  Alps,  per- 
haps, 
Or  our  own  Alleghanies. 

Uncle  John.  -  Not  so  fast, 

My  young  geographer,  °for  then  the  Alps, 
With  their  broad  pastures,  haply  were  untrod  35 

Of  herdsman's  foot,  and  never  human  voice 
Had  sounded  in  the  woods  that  overhang 
Our  Alleghany's  streams.     I  think  it  was 
°Upon  the  slopes  of  the  great  °Caucasus, 
Or  where  the  rivulets  of  ° Ararat  40 

Seek  the  Armenian  vales.     That  mountain  rose 
So  high,  that,  on  its  top,  the  winter-snow 
Was  never  melted,  and  the  cottagers 
Among  the  summer  blossoms,  far  below, 
Saw  its  white  peaks  in  August  from  their  door.  45 

One  little  maiden,  in  that  cottage  home, 
Dwelt  with  her  parents,  light  of  heart  and  limb, 
Bright,  restless,  thoughtless,  flitting  here  and  there, 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW  189 

Like  sunshine  on  the  uneasy  ocean  waves, 

And  sometimes  she  forgot  what  she  was  °bid,  50 

As  Alice  does. 

Alice.  —  Or  Willy,  quite  as  oft. 

Uncle  John.  —  But  you  are  older,  Alice,  two  good  years 
And  should  be  wiser.     Eva  was  the  name 
Of  this  young  maiden,  now  twelve  summers  old. 

Now  you  must  know  that,  in  those  early  times,         55 
When  autumn  days  grew  pale,  there  came  a  troop 
Of  childlike  forms  from  that  cold  mountain  top ; 
With  trailing  garments  through  the  air  they  came, 
Or  walked  the  ground  with  girded  loins,  and  threw 
Spangles  of  silvery  frost  upon  the  grass,  60 

And  edged  the  brooks  with  glistening  °parapets, 
And  built  it  crystal  bridges,  touched  the  pool, 
And  turned  its  face  to  glass,  or,  rising  thence, 
They  shook  from  their  full  laps  the  soft,  light  snow, 
And  buried  the  great  earth,  as  autumn  winds  65 

Bury  the  forest  floor  in  heaps  of  leaves. 

A  beautiful  race  were  they,  with  baby  brows, 
And  fair,  bright  locks,  and  voices  like  the  sound 
Of  steps  on  the  crisp  snow,  in  which  they  talked 
With  man,  as  friend  with  friend.     A  merry  sight  70 

It  was,  when,  crowding  round  the  traveller, 
They  smote  him  with  their  heaviest  snow  flakes,  flung 
Needles  of  frost  in  handfuls  at  his  cheeks, 
And,  of  the  light  wreaths  of  his  smoking  breath, 
Wove  a  white  fringe  for  his  brown  beard,  and  laughed  75 
Their  slender  laugh  to  see  him  wink  and  grin 
And  make  grim  faces  as  he  floundered  on. 


190  LATER  POEMS 

But,  when  the  spring  came  on,  what  terror  reigned 
Among  these  Little  People  of  the  Snow ! 
To  them  the  sun's  warm  beams  were  shafts  of  fire,        80 
And  the  soft  south  wind  was  the  wind  of  death. 
Away  they  flew,  all  with  a  pretty  scowl 
Upon  their  childish  faces,  to  the  north, 
Or  scampered  upward  to  the  mountain's  top, 
And  there  defied  their  enemy,  the  Spring ;  85 

Skipping  and  dancing  on  the  frozen  peaks, 
°And  moulding  little  snow-balls  in  their  palms, 
And  rolling  them,  to  crush  her  flowers  below, 
Down  the  steep  snow-fields. 

Alice.  -  That,  too,  must  have  been 

A  merry  sight  to  look  at. 

Uncle  John.  —  You  are  right,  90 

But  I  must  speak  of  graver  matters  now. 

Midwinter  was  the  time,  and  Eva  stood, 
Within  the  cottage,  all  prepared  to  dare 
The  outer  cold,  with  ample  furry  robe 
Close  belted  round  her  waist,  and  boots  of  fur,  95 

And  a  broad  kerchief,  which  her  mother's  hand 
Had  closely  drawn  about  her  ruddy  cheek. 
"  Now,  stay  not  long  abroad/'  said  the  good  dame, 
"  For  sharp  is  the  outer  air,  and,  mark  me  well, 
Go  not  upon  the  snow  beyond  the  spot  100 

Where  the  great  °linden  bounds  the  neighboring  field." 

The  little  maiden  promised,  and  went  forth, 
And  climbed  the  rounded  snow-swells  firm  with  frost 
Beneath  her  feet,  and  slid,  with  balancing  arms, 
Into  the  hollows.     Once,  as  up  a  drift  105 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW  191 

She  slowly  rose,  before  her,  in  the  way, 

°She  saw  a  little  creature,  lily-cheeked, 

With  flowing  flaxen  locks,  and  faint  blue  eyes, 

That  gleamed  like  ice,  and  robe  that  only  seemed 

Of  a  more  shadowy  whiteness  than  her  cheek.  no 

On  a  smooth  bank  she  sat. 

Alice.  —  She  must  have  been 

One  of  your  Little  People  of  the  Snow. 

Uncle  John.  —  She  was  so,  and,  as  Eva  now  drew  near, 
The  tiny  creature  bounded  from  her  seat ; 
"And  come,"  she  said,  "my  pretty  friend;  to-day        115 
We  will  be  playmates.     I  have  watched  thee  long, 
And  seen  how  well  thou  lov'st  to  walk  these  drifts, 
And  scoop  their  fair  sides  into  little  cells, 
And  carve  them  with  quaint  figures,  huge-limbed  men, 
Lions,  and  °griffins.     We  will  have,  to-day,  120 

A  merry  ramble  over  these  bright  fields, 
And  thou  shalt  see  what  thou  hast  never  seen/7 
On  went  the  pair,  until  they  reached  the  bound 
Where  the  great  linden  stood,  set  deep  in  snow, 
Up  to  the  lower  branches.     "Here  we  stop/7  125 

Said  Eva,  "  for  my  mother  has  my  word 
That  I  will  go  no  farther  than  this  tree.77 
Then  the  snow-maiden  laughed:    "And  what  is  this? 
This  fear  of  the  pure  snow,  the  innocent  snow, 
That  never  harmed  aught  living  ?  Thou  mayst  roam  130 
For  leagues  beyond  this  garden,  and  return 
In  safety ;  here  the  grim  wolf  never  prowls, 
And  here  the  eagle  of  our  mountain  crags 
Preys  not  in  winter.     I  will  show  the  way 


192  LATER  POEMS 

And  bring  thee  safely  home.     Thy  mother,  sure,          135 
Counselled  thee  thus  because  thou  hadst  no  guide." 

By  such  smooth  words  was  Eva  won  to  break 
Her  promise,  and  went  on  with  her  new  friend, 
Over  the  glistening  snow  and  down  a  bank 
Where  a  white  shelf,  wrought  by  the  eddying  wind,     140 
Like  to  a  billow's  crest  in  the  great  sea, 
Curtained  an  opening.     "Look,  we  enter  here.7' 
And  straight,  beneath  the  fair  o'erhanging  fold, 
Entered  the  little  pair  that  hill  of  snow, 
Walking  along  a  passage  with  white  walls,  145 

And  a  white  vault  above  where  °snow-stars  shed 
A  wintry  twilight.     Eva  moved  in  awe, 
And  held  her  peace,  but  the  snow-maiden  smiled, 
And  talked  and  tripped  along,  as  down  the  way, 
Deeper  they  went  into  that  mountainous  drift.  150 

And  now  the  white  walls  widened,  and  the  vault 
Swelled  upward,  like  some  vast  cathedral  dome, 
Such  as  the  Florentine,  who  bore  the  name 
Of  heaven's  most  potent  angel,  reared,  long  since, 
Or  the  unknown  builder  of  that  wondrous  °fane,          155 
The  glory  of  °Burgos.     Here  a  garden  lay, 
In  which  the  Little  People  of  the  Snow 
Were  wont  to  take  their  pastime  when  their  tasks 
Upon  the  mountain's  side  and  in  the  clouds 
Were  ended.     Here  they  taught  the  silent  frost  160 

To  mock,  in  stem  and  spray,  and  leaf  and  flower, 
The  growths  of  summero     Here  the  palm  upreared 
Its  white  °columnar  trunk  and  spotless  sheaf 
Of  plume-like  leaves ;   here  cedars,  huge  as  those 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE   OF  THE  SNOW  193 

Of  °Lebanon,  stretched  far  their  level  boughs,  165 

Yet  pale  and  shadowless;  the  sturdy  oak 

Stood,  with  its  huge  gnarled  roots  of  seeming  strength, 

Fast  anchored  in  the  glistening  bank;  light  sprays 

Of  myrtle,  roses  in  their  bud  and  bloom, 

Drooped  by  the  winding  walks ;  yet  all  seemed  wrought  170 

Of  stainless  °alabaster;  up  the  trees 

Ran  the  lithe  jessamine,  with  stalk  and  leaf 

Colorless  as  her  flowers.     "Go  softly  on/' 

Said  the  snow-maiden ;    "  touch  not,  with  thy  hand, 

The  frail  creation  round  thee,  and  beware  175 

To  sweep  it  with  thy  skirts.     Now  look  above. 

How  sumptuously  these  bowers  are  lighted  up 

With  shifting  gleams  that  softly  come  and  go. 

These  are  the  northern  lights,  such  as  thou  seest 

In  the  midwinter  nights,  °cold,  wandering  flames,        180 

That  float  with  our  processions,  through  the  air; 

And  here,  within  our  winter  palaces, 

Mimic  the  glorious  daybreak."     Then  she  told 

How,  when  the  wind,  in  the  long  winter  nights, 

Swept  the  light  snows  into  the  hollow  dell,  185 

She  and  her  comrades  guided  to  its  place 

Each  wandering  flake,  and  piled  them  quaintly  up, 

In  shapely  °colonnade  and  glistening  arch, 

With  shadowy  aisles  between,  or  bade  them  grow. 

Beneath  their  little  hands,  to  bowery  walks  190 

In  gardens  such  as  these,  and,  o'er  them  all, 

Built  the  broad  roof.     "  But  thou  hast  yet  to  see 

A  fairer  sight/'  she  said,  and  led  the  way 

To  where  a  window  of  °pellucid  ice 


194  LATER  POEMS 

Stood  in  the  wall  of  snow,  beside  their  path.  195 

"Look,  but  thou  mayst  not  enter."     Eva  looked, 
And  lo  !  a  glorious  hall,  from  whose  high  vault 
Stripes  of  soft  light,  ruddy  and  delicate  green, 
And  tender  blue,  flowed  downward  to  the  floor 
And  far  around,  °as  if  the  aerial  hosts,  200 

That  march  on  high  by  night,  with  beamy  spears, 
And  streaming  banners,  to  that  place  had  brought 
Their  radiant  flags  to  grace  a  festival. 
And  in  that  hall  a  joyous  multitude 
Of  these  by  whom  its  glistening  walls  were  reared,     205 
Whirled  in  a  merry  dance  to  silvery  sounds, 
That  rang  from  cymbals  of  transparent  ice, 
And  ice-cups,  quivering  to  the  skilful  touch 
Of  little  fingers.     Round  and  round  they  flew, 
As  when,  in  spring,  about  a  chimney-top,  210 

A  cloud  of  twittering  swallows,  just  returned, 
Wheel  round  and  round,  and  turn  and  wheel  again, 
Unwinding  their  swift  track.     So  rapidly 
Flowed  the  °meandering  stream  of  that  fair  dance, 
Beneath  that  dome  of  light.     Bright  eyes  that  looked  215 
From  under  lily  brows,  and  gauzy  scarfs 
Sparkling  like  snow-wreaths  in  the  early  sun, 
Shot  by  the  window  in  their  mazy  whirl. 
And  there  stood  Eva,  wondering  at  the  sight 
Of  those  bright  revellers  and  that  graceful  sweep        220 
Of  motion  as  they  passed  her;  —  long  she  gazed, 
And  listened  long  to  the  sweet  sounds  that  thrilled 
The  frosty  air,  till  now  the  encroaching  cold 
Recalled  her  to  herself.     "  Too  long,  too  long 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW  195 

I  lingered  here/7  she  said,  and  then  she  sprang  225 

Into  the  path,  and  with  a  hurried  step 

Followed  it  upward.     Ever  by  her  side 

Her  little  guide  kept  pace.     As  on  they  went, 

Eva  bemoaned  her  fault ;   "  What  must  they  think  — 

The  dear  ones  in  the  cottage,  while  so  long,  230 

Hour  after  hour,  I  stay  without?     I  know 

That  they  will  seek  me  far  and  near,  and  weep 

To  find  me  not.     How  could  I,  wickedly, 

Neglect  the  charge  they  gave  me?"     As  she  spoke, 

The  hot  tears  started  to  her  eyes;  she  knelt  235 

In  the  mid  path.     "  Father  !  forgive  this  sin ; 

Forgive  myself  I  cannot"  —  thus  she  prayed, 

And  rose  and  hastened  onward.     When,  at  last, 

They  reached  the  outer  air,  the  clear  north  breathed 

A  bitter  cold,  from  which  she  shrank  with  dread,         240 

But  the  snow-maiden  bounded  as  she  felt 

The  cutting  blast,  and  uttered  shouts  of  joy, 

And  skipped,  with  boundless  glee,  from  drift  to  drift, 

And  danced  round  Eva,  as  she  labored  up 

The  mounds  of  snow.     "  Ah  me  !  I  feel  my  eyes          245 

Grow  heavy,"  Eva  said;   "they  swim  with  sleep; 

1  cannot  walk  for  utter  weariness, 

And  I  must  rest  a  moment  on  this  bank, 

But  let  it  not  be  long."     As  thus  she  spoke, 

In  half-formed  words,  she  sank  on  the  smooth  snow,  250 

With  closing  lids.     Her  guide  composed  the  robe 

About  her  limbs,  and  said :   "  A  pleasant  spot 

Is  this  to  slumber  in ;  on  such  a  couch 

Oft  have  I  slept  away  the  winter  night, 


196  LATER  POEMS 

And  had  the  sweetest  dreams.77     So  Eva  slept,  255 

But  slept  in  death ;   for  when  the  power  of  frost 

Locks  up  the  motions  of  the  living  frame, 

The  victim  passes  to  the  realm  of  Death 

Through  the  dim  porch  of  Sleep.     The  little  guide, 

Watching  beside  her,  saw  the  hues  of  life  260 

Fade  from  the  fair  smooth  brow  and  rounded  cheek; 

As  fades  the  crimson  from  a  morning  cloud, 

Till  they  were  white  as  marble,  and  the  breath 

Had  ceased  to  come  and  go,  yet  knew  she  not 

At  first  that  this  was  death.     But  when  she  marked  265 

How  deep  the  paleness  was,  how  motionless 

That  once  lithe  form,  a  fear  came  over  her. 

She  strove  to  wake  the  sleeper,  plucked  her  robe, 

And  shouted  in  her  ear,  but  all  in  vain ; 

The  life  had  passed  away  from  those  young  limbs.       270 

Then  the  snow-maiden  raised  a  wailing  cry, 

Such  as  the  dweller  in  some  lonely  wild, 

Sleepless  through  all  the  long  December  night, 

Hears  when  the  mournful  °East  begins  to  blow. 

But  suddenly  was  heard  the  sounds  of  steps,  275 

Grating  on  the  crisp  snow;   the  cottagers 
Were  seeking  Eva;   from  afar  they  saw 
The  twain,  and  hurried  toward  them.     As  they  came 
With  gentle  chidings  ready  on  their  lips, 
And  marked  that  deathlike  sleep,  and  heard  the  tale  280 
Of  the  snow-maiden,  mortal  anguish  fell 
Upon  their  hearts,  and  bitter  words  of  grief 
And  blame  were  uttered :   "  Cruel,  cruel  one, 
To  tempt  our  daughter  thus,  and  cruel  we, 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE   OF  THE  SNOW  197 

Who  suffered  her  to  wander  forth  alone  285 

In  this  fierce  cold  I"     They  lifted  the  dear  child, 
And  bore  her  home  and  chafed  her  tender  limbs, 
And  strove,  by  all  the  simple  arts  they  knew, 
To  make  the  chilled  blood  move,  and  win  the  breath 
Back  to  her  bosom;  fruitlessly  they  strove;  290 

The  little  maid  was  dead.     In  blank  despair 
They  stood,  and  gazed  at  her  who  never  more 
Should  look  on  them.     "  Why  die  we  not  with  her  ?" 
They  said;  "without  her,  life  is  bitterness." 

Now  came  the  funeral  day;  the  simple  folk  295 

Of  all  that  °pastoral  region  gathered  round 
To  share  the  sorrow  of  the  cottagers. 
They  carved  a  way  into  the  mound  of  snow 
To  the  glen's  side,  and  dug  a  little  grave 
In  the  smooth  slope,  and,  following  the  bier,  300 

In  long  procession  from  the  silent  door, 
Chanted  a  sad  and  solemn  melody : 

"  Lay  her  away  to  rest  within  the  ground. 
Yea,  lay  her  down  whose  pure  and  innocent  life 
Was  spotless  as  these  snows ;  for  she  was  reared          305 
In  love,  and  passed  in  love  life's  pleasant  spring, 
And  all  that  now  our  tenderest  love  can  do 
Is  to  give  burial  to  her  lifeless  limbs." 

They  paused,     A  thousand  slender  voices  round, 
Like  echoes  softly  flung  from  rock  and  hill,  310 

Took  up  the  strain,  and  all  the  hollow  air 
Seemed  mourning  for  the  dead ;  for,  on  that  day, 
The  Little  People  of  the  Snow  had  come, 
From  mountain-peak,  and  cloud,  and  icy  hall, 


198  LATER  POEMS 

To  Eva's  burial.     As  the  murmur  died,  315 

The  funeral-train  renewed  the  solemn  chant : 

"  Thou,  Lord,  hast  taken  her  to  be  with  Eve, 
Whose  gentle  name  was  given  her.     Even  so, 
For  so  Thy  wisdom  saw  that  it  was  best 
For  her  and  us.     We  bring  our  bleeding  hearts,  320 

And  ask  the  touch  of  healing  from  Thy  hand, 
As,  with  submissive  tears,  we  render  back 
The  lovely  and  beloved  to  Him  who  gave." 

They  ceased.     Again  the  plaintive  murmur  rose. 
From  shadowy  skirts  of  low-hung  cloud  it  came,          325 
And  wide  white  fields,  and  fir-trees  capped  with  snow, 
Shivering  to  the  sad  sounds.     They  sank  away 
To  silence  in  the  dim-seen  distant  woods. 

The  little  grave  was  closed ;   the  funeral  train 
Departed ;  winter  wore  away ;  the  spring  330 

Steeped,  with  her  quickening  rains,  the  violet  tufts, 
By  fond  hands  planted  where  the  maiden  slept. 
But,  after  Eva's  burial,  never  more 
The  Little  People  of  the  Snow  were  seen 
By  human  eye,  nor  ever  human  ear  335 

Heard  from  their  lips  articulate  speech  again; 
For  a  decree  went  forth  to  cut  them  off, 
For  ever,  from  °communion  with  mankind. 
The  winter  clouds,  along  the  mountain-side, 
Rolled  downward  toward  the  vale,  but  no  fair  form    340 
Leaned  from  their  folds,  and,  in  the  icy  glens, 
And  aged  woods,  under  snow-loaded  pines, 
Where  once  they  made  their  haunt,  was  emptiness. 

But  ever,  when  the  wintry  days  drew  near, 


THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW  199 

Around  that  little  grave,  in  the  long  night,  345 

Frost-wreaths  were  laid  and  tufts  of  °silvery  rime 
In  shape  like  blades  and  blossoms  of  the  field, 
As  one  would  scatter  flowers  upon  a  bier. 


NOTES 

THANATOPSIS.     (PAGE  1) 

Thanatopsis  was  written  in  the  summer  of  1811,  when  Bryant 
was  but  seventeen  years  of  age.  It  first  appeared  in  print  in  the 
North  American  Eeview  for  September,  1817.  During  the  years 
which  elapsed  between  its  composition  and  its  publication  it  lay 
concealed  among  the  poet's  papers  at  his  father's  home,  where 
it  was  discovered  by  Dr.  Bryant.  In  its  original  form  it  contained 
but  forty-nine  lines,  and  read  differently  in  many  places  from  the 
final  draft.  The  revised  form  came  out  in  1821,  in  the  edition  of 
Bryant's  poems  which  appeared  that  year.  It  is  interesting  to 
compare  the  two  drafts,  and  for  that  purpose  the  first  one  is  given 
below.  Note  the  abrupt  beginning  and  ending. 

"  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee, 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more, 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  th'  embrace  of  ocean  shall  exist 
Thy  image.    Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolv'd  to  earth  again  ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrend'ring  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 
To  be  a  brother  to  th'  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.    The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 
Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting  place 
201  " 


202  NOTES  [PAGE  1 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone  —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.    Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world  —  with  kings 
The  powerful  of  the  earth  —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.  —  The  hills, 
Rock-ribb'd  and  ancient  as  the  sun,  —  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between ; 
The  venerable  woods  —  the  floods  that  move 
In  majesty,  — and  the  complaining  brooks, 
That  wind  among  the  meads  and  make  them  green, 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all, 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.  —  The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven 
Are  glowing  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.  —  Take  the  wings 
Of  morning —  and  the  Borean  desert  pierce  — 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
That  veil  the  Oregon,  where  he  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings  —  yet  —  the  dead  are  there, 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep  —  the  dead  reign  there  alone. — 
So  shalt  thou  rest  —  and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 
Unnoticed  by  the  living  —  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?    Thousands  more 
Will  share  thy  destiny.  —  The  tittering  world 
Dance  to  the  grave.    The  busy  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  chases  as  before 
His  favorite  phantom.  —  Yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee." 
The  word  thanatopsis  comes  from  the  Greek  Qavaros  (death) 

and  6^is  (view) ,  and  means  a  view  of  death,  or  a  meditation  on 

the  subject  of  death. 


PAGES  1-4]  THE   YELLOW  VIOLET  203 

2.  Communion:  fellowship. 

3.  various:  diversified. 

10.  sad  images :   gloomy  conceptions. 

11.  stern  agony :  the  suffering  preceding  death. 

12.  narrow  house:  the  grave. 
22.  image :  form. 

28.  swain :  a  country  fellow. 

29.  share:  ploughshare. 

34.  patriarchs :  heads  of  families  in  ancient  times  who  governed 
their  descendants  by  paternal  right.  The  term  is  usually  applied 
to  Abraham,  Isaac,  Jacob,  and  his  sons.  Infant  world :  world  in 
the  earliest  period  of  its  history. 

36.    seers  :  prophets,  those,  who  foresee  future  events. 

40.   venerable :  to  be  regarded  with  awe  or  reverence. 

43.    melancholy:  sombre,  gloomy. 

51.  Barcan  wilderness.     Barca  or  Barka  is  a  province  in  the 
eastern  part  of  Tripoli.    Nearly  the  whole  of  its  area  is  barren. 
Bryant  uses  the  word  wilderness  in  the  sense  of  desert,  and  vice 
versa.     See  1.  1,  The  Prairies. 

52.  continuous:  unbroken. 

53.  Oregon:  Columbia  River,  northwestern  part  of  the  United 
States. 

64.  phantom:  something  which  has  only  an  apparent  existence, 
an  apparition. 

73.  summons  comes :  summons  is  the  singular  form  of  the  word 
(plural  summonses)  ;  hence  comes,  not  come. 

74.  innumerable  caravan :  countless  company  of  travellers. 

THE   YELLOW  VIOLET.     (PAGE  4) 

5-12.  Ere  russet  fields  . .  .  the  snow-bank's  edges  cold.  Words- 
worth, in  his  poem  To  the  Small  Celandine,  has  the  following 
stanza :  — 


204  NOTES  [PAGES  4-8 

"  Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  bush, 
In  the  time  before  the  thrush 
Has  a  thought  about  her  nest, 
Thou  wilt  come  with  half  a  call 
Spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast 
Like  a  careless  prodigal, 
Telling  tales  about  the  sun, 
When  we've  little  warmth,  or  none." 

5.    russet:  brown. 

8.    virgin :  pure,  fresh.    A  favorite  word  with  Bryant. 
17-19.   Yet   slight  thy  form  .  .  .   the  passing  view  to  meet. 
Gray,  in  his  Elegy,  expresses  the  same  thought,  but  in  a  more 
general  way  :  — 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

INSCRIPTION  FOR   THE   ENTRANCE   TO   A   WOOD 

(PAGE  5) 

This  poem  first  appeared  with  Thanatopsis  (see  introductory  note 
to  Thanatopsis) ,  under  the  title  A  Fragment,  a  name  doubtlessly 
given  it  by  the  editors.  Bryant  afterward  gave  it  its  present  title. 

u.  primal  curse :  a  reference  to  the  curse  pronounced  upon  the 
earth  after  Adam  and  Eve  sinned.  See  Gen.  iii.  17. 

1 8.    wantonness:  playfulness. 

30.    causey:  causeway,  road. 

33.  fixed :  permanent,  established  for  all  time. 

34.  tripping.     Is  this  an  appropriate  word  to  use  in  speaking  of 
a  stream  of  water  ? 

TO   A   WATERFOWL.     (PAGE  8) 

The  lines  To  a  Waterfowl  are  based  on  the  following  incident : 
On  the  fifteenth  of  December,  1815,  Bryant  visited  Plainfield,  a 
village  a  few  miles  from  his  home,  to  see  what  inducements  it 


PAGES  8-12]  A    WINTER  PIECE  205 

offered  him  as  a  lawyer  about  to  begin  practice.  Night  drew  on  as 
he  approached  the  place,  and  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  despair 
was  stealing  over  him,  when,  on  looking  toward  the  west,  he  saw 
a  lone  bird  flying  along  the  horizon.  He  watched  it  as  it  made  its 
way  across  the  sky,  and  its  unwavering  flight  inspired  him  with 
renewed  courage.  That  evening  he  wrote  the  poem.  It  was  first 
published  in  the  North  American  Review  for  March,  1818. 

2.  last  steps :  explain. 

7.  As  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky.  This  line  was  first 
written,  "  As  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky,"  but  was  changed 
before  the  poem  appeared  in  print.  Why  is  the  present  form 
superior  to  the  original  one  ? 

9.  plashy  :  watery. 

10.  marge  :  margin,  brink. 
15.    illimitable  :  boundless. 
25.   abyss  :  infinite  space. 

GREEN   RIVER.     (PAGE  9) 

3.  hie :  hasten. 

13.  plane-tree's  speckled  arms.  The  plane-tree,  which  is  known 
also  as  the  sycamore  and  the  button  wood,  yearly  detaches  its 
bark  in  large  scales,  showing  a  white  surface  beneath.  This  gives 
the  tree  a  spotted  appearance. 

33.    simpler  :  a  person  who  collects  medicinal  plants. 

38.   river-cherry :  wild-cherry. 

55-58.  Though  forced  to  drudge  .  .  .  are  subtle  and  loud.  It 
is  readily  seen  in  these  lines  that  the  practice  of  law,  which  Bryant 
was  following  at  the  time  the  poem  was  written  (1817),  was  very 
distasteful  to  him. 

A   WINTER   PIECE.     (PAGE  12) 
Note  how  rapidly  yet  how  clearly  the  pictures  are  drawn. 
15.   simples  :  medicinal  plants. 


206  NOTES  [PAGES  12-19 

33.    interposing  :  coming  between. 
39.   Albeit :  although. 

74.   virgin.    See  note  on  1.  8,  The  Yellow  Violet. 
88.    wildered  :  bewildered. 
91.    sluices  :  sources  of  supply. 
109.    lymph :  sap. 

114.  wind-flower:  anemone.  Called  wind-flower  because  for- 
merly supposed  to  open  only  when  the  wind  was  blowing. 

"BLESSED   ARE   THEY  THAT   MOURN."     (PAGE  16) 

The  title  of  this  poem  is  taken  from  Matt.  v.  4  (the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount). 

1.  deem  :  think. 

2.  tenor  :  course.     Gray  uses  the  word  in  his  Elegy :  — 

"  Along  the  even  tenor  of  their  way." 

13.  bier  :  a  vehicle  on  which  the  dead  are  borne  to  the  grave,  a 
hearse. 

"NO  MAN  KNOWETH   HIS   SEPULCHRE."     (PAGE  17) 

The  title  of  this  poem  is  taken  from  Deut.  xxxiv.  6,  and 
refers  to  the  burial  of  Moses.  Because  of  his  sin  in  claiming  for 
himself  the  credit  due  God  for  the  gift  of  water  at  Meribah  in  the 
wilderness,  Moses  was  refused  the  privilege  of  entering  the  prom- 
ised land.  He  was  permitted  to  see  it,  however,  viewing  it  from 
the  height  of  Pisgah  near  Jericho.  Here  God  buried  him. 

6.  Moab's  rocks.  Moab  was  a  small  district  bordering  the 
Dead  Sea  on  the  east.  It  is  now  a  part  of  Asiatic  Turkey. 

HYMN  TO   DEATH.     (PAGE  19) 

16-17.  True  it  is  ...  thy  conquests :  a  reference  to  the  death 
of  the  poet's  sister,  who  died  in  her  twenty-second  year.  She  was 
his  favorite  companion  in  his  boyhood. 


PAGE  19]  HYMN  TO  DEATH  207 

27.   ripe :  full-grown. 

48-49.  Nimrod  :  a  Biblical  character  who  early  in  the  history  of 
the  human  family  ruled  over  a  considerable  part  of  southwest 
Asia.  He  is  commonly  spoken  of  as  a  mighty  hunter.  See  Gen. 
x.  8-9.  Sesostris :  also  known  as  Rameses  II.,  a  celebrated 
king  of  Egypt,  who  reigned  about  1400-1350  B.C.  He  gained  re- 
nown both  as  a  w,arrior  and  as  a  builder.  It  was  under  his  rule 
that  the  children  of  Israel  met  with  the  severe  persecution  that  led 
them  to  flee  from  the  land.  See  Encyclopaedia  or  Ancient  History, 
the  youth  .  .  .  from  Libyan  Ammon  :  Alexander  the  Great  of 
Macedonia  (356-323  B.C.),  the  greatest  military  leader  of  ancient 
times.  With  an  army  of  a  few  thousand  soldiers  he  conquered 
the  known  world.  In  the  midst  of  his  success  he  visited  the  temple 
of  Jupiter  Ammon  (a  heathen  deity  represented  in  the  form  of  a 
ram  or  of  a  human  being  with  a  ram's  head)  in  the  Libyan  desert, 
where  he  was  addressed  by  the  priest  in  charge  as  a  son  of  the  god. 
From  that  time  he  is  said  to  have  demanded  the  homage  accorded 
a  deity.  See  Encyclopaedia  or  Ancient  History. 

60.   fanes:  cathedral. 

75.  extortioner's  hand :    an  extortioner  is  one  who  takes  by 
force. 

76.  perjurer :  one  who  swears  falsely. 

77.  lithe  :  cunning,  treacherous,     voluble  :  fluent. 
80.   calumnies  :  malicious  reports,  slanders. 

1 06.  felon's  latest  breath  :  a  felon  is  a  criminal  whose  offence  is 
of  a  serious  nature. 

109.    obloquy :  slander. 

113.   whelm:  ingulfed,  overwhelmed. 

128.   green  pupilage  :  early  period  of  study. 

137.  For  he  is  in  his  grave.  The  poet's  father  died  on  March  20, 
1820.  See  Birth  and  Parents  in  the  Biographical  Sketch  given  in 
the  Introduction. 

140.  Untimely ;  unseasonably,  prematurely. 


208  NOTES  [PAGES  19-25 

147.    deemed.     See  note  on  1.  1,  "Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn.1'' 
167.   desultory :  disconnected,  without  logical  sequence. 

THE   AGES.     (PAGE  25) 

The  Ages  was  recited  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Har- 
vard University  in  1821.  It  is  the  custom  of  that  society  to  invite 
some  eminent  literary  man  to  deliver  its  annual  address,  and  as 
Bryant  was  regarded  as  the  leading  American  poet  at  the  time,  the 
invitation  was  extended  to  him. 

15.    mimic  canvas :    painting. 

27.  palm:  victory.  The  palm  has  long  been  regarded  as  the 
symbol  or  token  of  victory,  supremacy,  or  triumph. 

44.   prodigal:  lavish. 

68-70.  Unwinds  the  eternal  dances  .  .  .  sun's  broad  circle: 
traces  out  the  movements  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

94.   reverent:  humble,  respectful. 

109-119.  Those  ages  have  no  memory  .  .  .  but  the  eternal 
tombs  remain :  a  reference  to  the  ruins  of  temples  and  statues, 
the  mausoleums  and  the  pyramids  of  Egypt.  See  Ancient  History. 

136-141.  Oh,  Greece !  thy  flourishing  cities  ...  in  distant 
climes  :  a  reference  to  the  struggle  for  supremacy  between  Athens 
and  Sparta,  the  oppression  of  the  masses  of  the  people  by  the  few 
who  ruled,  and  the  institution  Ostracism.  See  Ancient  History. 

174.   pattered:  muttered. 

178.    orgies:  drunken  revelries. 

183.  Etrurian :  of  Etruria,  an  ancient  country  in  the  west-cen- 
tral part  of  Italy. 

187.  Arno's  classic  side.  The  Arno  (formerly  Arnus)  is  a  small 
river  in  west-central  Italy.  Next  to  the  Tiber  it  was  the  most  cele- 
brated river  in  the  Roman  Empire. 

191.  stole:  a  narrow  band  of  silk  or  other  material,  worn  by 
priests  over  the  shoulders  and  hanging  down  in  front  to  the  knees 
or  below  them. 


PAGES  26-41]  THE  RIVULET  m  209 

194.   dole :  lot,  fate. 

196.  mitre's  kind  control:  the  kind  control  of  the  priesthood. 
A  initre  is  a  covering  for  the  head,  worn  by  church  dignitaries. 
It  is  a  high  cap  with  two  points  or  peaks. 

199-207.  At  last  the  earthquake  .  .  .  dissolves  the  flaxen 
thread  :  a  reference  to  the  downfall  of  the  pope  as  a  temporal 
ruler.  See  Mediaeval  History. 

211.   Asian  monarch's  chain  :  a  reference  to  the  Christ. 

236.    ancient :  that  has  been  of  long  duration. 

244.   yon  bright  blue  bay :  Massachusetts  Bay. 

250.   tawny :  of  a  dull,  yellowish  brown  color. 

255.   interminable:  boundless. 

265.    disembowered :  deprived  of  or  removed  from  a  bower. 


ODE   FOR   AN  AGRICULTURAL   CELEBRATION 

(PAGE  39) 

This  ode  was  sung  at  the  Cattle  Show  of  the  Berkshire  Agricul- 
tural Society  in  1823. 

3.    sages :  wise  men. 

8.  laurels :  evergreen  shrubs,  the  leaves  of  which  were  used  as 
symbols  of  victory  by  the  ancient  Greeks. 

14.  diadem :  crown.  Used  here  to  signify  royal  power,  wane : 
decline,  decrease. 

THE   RIVULET.     (PAGE  41) 

The  rivulet  celebrated  in  this  poem  ran  within  a  few  yards  of 
the  Bryant  homestead  at  Cummington. 
13.   vernal  hymn :  song  of  spring. 
19.    Duly:   in  a  proper  manner. 
49.   ground-bird :  ground-sparrow. 


210  NOTES  [PAGES  44-49 


MARCH.     (PAGE  44) 

5.  passing:  exceedingly. 

9-10.  For  thou  to  northern  lands  .  .  .  sun  dost  bring.  On  or 
about  March  21  the  sun  crosses  the  equator  on  its  way  north. 

SUMMER    WIND.     (PAGE  45) 

9.   potent  fervors :  powerful  heat. 
ii.    declines:  droops. 

1 6.  brazen:    dazzling,  as  if  made  of  brass.     Coleridge,  in  his 
Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  uses  the  expression,  "All  in  a  hot 
and  copper  sky." 

22.   virgin.     See  note  on  1.  8,  The  Yellow  Violet. 

25.   voluble.     See  note  on  1.  77,  Hymn  to  Death. 

27-28.  Is  it  that  ...  He  hears  me  ?  a  reference  to  the  Greek 
myth  which  taught  that  the  winds  were  confined  in  a  cavern.  See 
^Eolus  in  Classical  Dictionary. 

"I  BROKE  THE   SPELL   THAT  HELD   ME    LONG" 
(PAGE  47) 

2.  witchery  :  enchantment,  fascination. 

3.  lore :  knowledge  pertaining  to  a  particular  subject. 

6.  Consorts :  associates  with. 

7.  deemed.     See  note  on  1.  1,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn" 

MONUMENT   MOUNTAIN.     (PAGE  49) 

17.  tilth:  cultivated  land. 

27.  pinnacles:  sharp  projections. 

30.  middle  :  in  the  midst  of. 

31.  capitals:  tops,  heads. 
35.  beetling:  overhanging. 


PAGES  49-55]  TO  A    CLOUD  211 

42.  beautiful  river :  the  Housatonic.  See  introductory  note  to 
the  poem. 

49.   reverend :  enforcing  reverence  or  awe  by  the  appearance. 

99.   deemed.     See  note  on  1.  1,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn" 

100-103.  Like  worshippers  .  .  .  earth  overlooking  mountains: 
a  reference  to  the  early  Greeks'  belief  that  their  gods  and  goddesses 
lived  on  the  summit^of  Mount  Olympus. 

101.   affect :  take  possession. 

136.    hapless  :  unfortunate. 

SONG   OF   THE   GREEK  AMAZON.     (PAGE  54) 

The  Amazons  were  a  legendary  nation  of  female  warriors  who 
lived  in  the  region  north  and  east  of  the  Black  and  the  Caspian 
seas.  The  name  is  now  applied  to  any  woman  who  takes  part  in 
war. 

2.  scimitar  :  a  sabre  with  a  much-curved  blade.     It  is  a  favorite 
weapon  of  the  Turks,  Arabs,  and  Persians. 

3.  flower  :  prime  of  life. 

14.  virgin.     See  note  on  1.  8,  The  Yellow  Violet. 

21.  virgin  :  maiden. 

23.  Othman :  Turkish.     Commonly  written  Ottoman. 

25.  lute  :  a  mediseval  stringed  instrument. 

TO   A   CLOUD.     (PAGE  55) 

In  connection  with  the  study  of  this  poem,  read  Shelley's  poem 
entitled  The  Cloud. 

17.  Andalusia :  one  of  the  kingdoms  or  great  divisions  of  Spain. 
It  is  in  the  southern  part. 

22-28.  O'er  Greece  long  fettered  .  .  .  and  they  are  broke.  The 
Greeks  were  conquered  by  the  Turks  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
were  held  in  subjugation  until  1820,  when  they  arose  in  revolt,  and 
after  much  desperate  fighting  regained  their  independence  in  1829. 


212  NOTES  [PAGES  5^-59 

The  struggle  was  watched  with  great  interest  by  many  countries, 
and  was  made  the  theme  of  many  poems  and  orations.  See  Hal- 
leek's  Marco  Bozzaris,  Bryant's  The  Greek  Partisan,  and  Web- 
ster's The  Revolution  in  Greece. 

27.    Othman.     See  note  on  1.  23,  Song  of  the  Greek  Amazon. 

33.  meteor:  used  here  as  a  synonym  for  cloud.  The  term  is 
applied  to  any  transient  phenomenon  or  appearance  in  the  atmos- 
phere or  above  it,  as  clouds,  rain,  shooting-stars,  etc.  See  Dic- 
tionary. 

HYMN  TO   THE   NORTH   STAR.     (PAGE  57) 

6.  constellations  :  groups  of  fixed  stars. 

1 8.  virgin  orb :  pure  sphere,     main:  sea,  ocean. 

20.  kindling  air :  air  that  is  becoming  heated. 

24.  shapes :  forms,  figures. 

37.  bards:  poets. 

38.  Sages.     See  note  on  1.  3,  Ode  for  an  Agricultural  Celebra- 
tion. 

A   FOREST   HYMN.     (PAGE  59) 

2.  shaft :  pillar,  column,  architrave :  beam  resting  on  columns 
and  supporting  the  upper  part  of  a  building. 

29.  century-living.  Note  how  by  setting  this  epithet  in  contrast, 
the  great  age  of  the  forest  trees  is  impressed  upon  us. 

34-36.  These  dim  vaults  .  .  .  Report  not.  These  lines  origi- 
nally read :  — 

"Here  are  seen 

No  traces  of  man's  pomp  or  pride.     No  silks 
Rustle ;  no  jewels  shine ;  nor  envious  eyes 
Encounter." 

They  were  changed  at  the  suggestion  of  Christopher  North  who, 
in  reviewing  Bryant's  poems  in  Blackwood^s  Magazine  (April, 
1832),  said,  "Such  sarcastic  suggestions  jar  and  grate;  and  it 
would  please  us  much  to  see  that  they  were  omitted  in  a  new  edi- 


PAGES  59-67J      THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FLOWERS  213 

tion.  The  grandeur  of  the  grove  temple  and  the  serenity  of  the 
grove  worship  needed  not  such  paltry  contrasts  to  make  them 
impressive." 

57.   annihilated :  reduced  to  nothing. 

57-61.  not  a  prince  .  .  .  graced  him.  North  also  objected  to 
these  lines.  (See  note  on  11.  34-36.)  u  Can  an  American  Repub- 
lican," he  asked v  "-not  forget  his  scorn  of  European  kings  even  in 
the  living  temple  of  God  ?  " 

66.   emanation :  a  bursting  forth. 

86.  Upon  the  tyrant's  throne  —the  sepulchre.  This  line  origi- 
nally read,  "Upon  the  sepulchre  and  blooms  and  smiles."  What 
objection  may  be  offered  to  this  form  ? 

"OH  FAIREST   OF   THE   RURAL   MAIDS."     (PAGE  63) 

This  poem,  written  in  1820,  was  addressed  to  Miss  Frances  Fair- 
child  of  Great  Barrington,  to  whom  the  poet  was  married  in  1821. 

JUNE.     (PAGE  64) 

5.  that  in  flowery  June.  The  poet's  wish  to  die  in  June  was 
granted,  his  death  occurring  on  June  12,  1878.  See  Death  in 
Introduction. 

51.   circuit :  extent. 

THE   DEATH   OF   THE   FLOWERS.     (PAGE  67) 

2.    sere  :  dry,  withered. 

13.   wind-flower.     See  note  on  1.  114,  A  Winter  Piece. 

1 8.  upland  :  high  land,  glade :  an  open  space  in  a  forest  cov- 
ered with  grass.  glen :  a  depression  between  hills,  a  narrow 
valley. 

22.    smoky  :  having  the  appearance  of  smoke,  hazy. 

25.  And  then  I  think  of  one.  See  note  on  11.  16-17,  Hymn  to 
Death. 

29.   unmeet :  out  of  place. 


214  MOTES  [PAGES  72-78 


A   MEDITATION   ON   RHODE-ISLAND   COAL.     (PAGE  72) 

5.  Lalla  Rookh  :  the  title  of  a  long  and  rather  laborious  poem 
by  Thomas  Moore. 

12.  Tiverton :  one  of  the  townships  of  Newport  County,  Ehode 
Island. 

57.  Adams  :  probably  John  Adams.  La  Fayette  :  Marquis  de 
La  Fayette,  a  French  nobleman  who  aided  the  Americans  in  the 
Revolutionary  War.  He  revisited  the  United  States  in  1824. 

62.  chapeau  bras  :  a  hat  so  made  that  it  can  be  compressed  and 
carried  under  the  arm.  Such  hats  were  particularly  worn  on 
dress  occasions  by  gentlemen  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Now  worn 
in  the  United  States  army  by  general  and  staff  officers.  The  name 
comes  from  the  French  words  chapeau  and  bras. 

81.  Havre  :  a  seaport  in  France  at  the  mouth  of  the  Seine. 

82.  spinning- jenny  :  a  machine  for  spinning  wool  or  cotton. 

87.  "ruler  of  the  inverted  year"  :  from  Book  IV.  of  The  Task, 
by  William  Cowper  (1731-1800). 

THE   GLADNESS   OF  NATURE.     (PAGE  76) 

5.  hang-bird :  the  Baltimore  oriole,  which  suspends  its  nest 
from  a  branch  of  a  tree. 

8.  wilding  bee  :  wild  bee  ;  wild  in  the  sense  of  not  domesticated. 

9.  azure:  blue. 

12.  aspen  bower :  a  shady  recess  formed  by  aspen  or  poplar 
trees. 

THE   CONJUNCTION   OF   JUPITER   AND   VENUS 

(PAGE  78) 

17-19.  the  imperial  star  of  Jove :  the  planet  Jupiter.  Jove 
was  the  highest  god  of  the  Romans,  the  supreme  ruler  of  heaven 
and  earth.  He  was  called  Zeus  by  the  Greeks,  she  .  .  .  Pours 


PAGES  78-84]         A  SCENE  ON  THE  HUDSON  215 

forth  the  light  of  love  :  Venus,  the  most  brilliant  of  the  planets. 
Venus  was  the  Roman  goddess  of  love. 

42.  dog-star :  the  star  Sirius  or  Canicula,  the  brightest  of  the 
fixed  stars,  and  the  chief  star  of  the  constellation  Canis  Major. 
It  was  regarded  by  the  Romans  as  the  cause  of  the  diseases  com- 
mon in  the  months  of  July  and  August,  which  period  they  termed 
dog  days. 

59-60.  Happy  they  Born  at  this  hour.  The  Romans  believed 
that  a  person's  life  was  greatly  influenced  by  the  star  under  whose 
ascendency  he  was  born. 

"  The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  iu  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings." 

—  Act  I.,  Sc.  II.,  Julius  Cxsar. 

64.  Hapless  Greece.  This  poem  was  written  in  1826  while  the 
Greeks  were  struggling  against  Turkey  for  their  independence. 
See  note  on  11.  22-28,  To  a  Cloud. 

87.  Missolonghi.  The  town  of  Missolonghi  was  captured  by  the 
Turks  in  1826  after  a  ten  months'  siege. 

A   SUMMER   RAMBLE.     (PAGE  81) 

29.   thou :  the  poet's  wife. 

50.    sabbath :  repose. 

53.   deem.     See  note  on  1.  1,  "Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn.*' 

A   SCENE   ON  THE   BANKS   OF   THE    HUDSON 

(PAGE  84) 

12.  Suspended  in  the  mimic  sky  :  reflected  in  the  water. 

13.  void  :  empty  space. 

24.    insatiate  :  incapable  of  being  satisfied. 


216  NOTES  [PAGES  85-88 


WILLIAM   TELL.     (PAGE  85) 

William  Tell,  a  celebrated  Swiss  hero  and  patriot,  was  born  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  1307  he  joined  a 
league  organized  to  oppose  the  Austrian  governor,  Gessler,  whose 
tyranny  was  unbearable.  Legend  says  that  for  refusing  to  bow  to 
the  governor's  cap,  he  was  condemned  to  shoot  an  apple  from  his 
son's  head  with  a  bow  and  arrow,  a  feat  which  he  easily  performed. 
Determined  on  revenge,  however,  if  he  injured  his  child,  he  con- 
cealed a  second  arrow  under  his  cloak,  which  was  discovered.  He 
admitted  that  it  was  intended  for  Gessler,  and  for  this  was  taken 
a  prisoner  on  board  the  governor's  vessel.  But  a  violent  storm 
arising,  he  was  required  to  steer  the  boat,  and,  watching  his  chance, 
sprang  ashore.  Hiding  himself,  he  awaited  his  opportunity,  and 
when  Gessler  attempted  to  land,  shot  him  dead.  These  incidents 
form  the  subject  of  Schiller's  most  popular  drama,  William  Tell. 

THE   PAST.     (PAGE  86) 

13.   Thou  hast  my  better  years.    This  poem  was  written  in  1828, 
when  Bryant  was  thirty-four  years  of  age. 
25.   abysses :   depths. 
40.    inexorable  :   relentless,  unyielding. 
51.    Alone  :   only. 

54.  Him:   the  poet's  father.      See  note  on   1.   187,  Hymn  to 
Death. 

55.  her :  the  poet's  sister.    See  note  on  11.  16-17,  Hymn  to  Death. 

THE   HUNTER'S   SERENADE.     (PAGE  88) 

i.   bower  :   an  attractive  abode  or  retreat. 

4.  savanna's  side  :  a  savanna  is  a  tract  of  land  covered  with 
vegetable  growth,  but  without  trees. 

15.  papaya  :  a  tree  of  the  western  and  southern  United  States, 
which  yields  a  sweet  edible  fruit.  Commonly  written  papaw. 


PAGES  88-95]  SONG   OF  MARION'S  MEN  217 

46-47.  The  solitary  mound  .  .  .  the  elder  world :  a  reference 
to  the  mounds  found  in  various  places  in  the  Mississippi  Valley. 
They  were  built  by  a  race  of  people  that  occupied  the  land  before 
the  coming  of  the  Indians. 

TO   THE   FRINGED   GENTIAN.     (PAGE  93) 

8.    ground-birdT    See  note  on  1.  49,  The  Rivulet. 
n.    portend :   foretell. 

15-16.  Blue,  blue  as  if  ...  from  its  cerulean  wall.  In  the 
poem,  The  Pressed  Gentian,  Whittier  uses  these  lines  :  — 

"  As  fair  as  when  beside  its  brook 
The  hue  of  bending  skies  it  took." 

1 6.   cerulean  :   azure,  blue. 

THE   TWENTY-SECOND   OF   DECEMBER.     (PAGE  94) 

On  December  22,  1620,  the  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth  Rock, 
Massachusetts.  Compare  Bryant's  treatment  of  the  event  with 
that  of  Mrs.  Felicia  Hemans,  given  in  her  poem,  The  Landing  of 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers  in  New  England. 

g.  bays  :  wreaths  of  laurel,  the  symbol  of  victory,  excellence, 
and  renown  due  to  achievement. 

SONG   OF   MARION'S   MEN.     (PAGE  95) 

3.  The  British  soldier  trembles.  In  the  edition  of  Bryant's 
poems  published  in  England,  in  1832,  this  line  read,  uThe  foeman 
trembles  in  his  camp."  The  change  was  made  by  Irving,  who 
edited  the  book,  because  the  publisher  refused  to  print  it  as  it 
stood. 

13.  Woe  to  the  English  soldiery.  This  line  was  changed  to 
"  Woe  to  the  heedless  soldiery  "  in  the  edition  referred  to  above. 

30.    up  :   over,  at  an  end. 


218  NOTES  [PAGES  95-98 

41.  barb:  horse.  The  word  is  contracted  from  Barbary,  the 
name  of  a  vast  territory  in  the  northern  part  of  Africa,  which  was 
once  noted  for  its  fine  breed  of  horses. 

49.   Santee :   river  in  South  Carolina. 

THE   PKAIRIES.     (PAGE  98) 

i.   Desert:   wilderness. 

4.  I  behold  them  for  the  first.  In  1832  Bryant  made  his  first 
excursion  west  of  the  Alleghanies,  visiting  his  brothers,  who  had 
become  the  proprietors  of  a  large  landed  estate  in  Illinois.  It  was 
while  on  this  visit  that  he  wrote  The  Prairies. 

7.   undulations  :   having  the  appearance  of  waves. 

8-10.  As  if  the  ocean  .  .  .  motionless  forever.  Any  one  who 
has  seen  both  the  prairie  and  the  ocean  cannot  help  but  appreciate 
this  comparison. 

13.  The  surface  rolls  and  fluctuates  to  the  eye.  The  prairies  of 
the  West,  with  an  undulating  surface,  rolling  prairies^  as  they  are 
called,  present  to  the  unaccustomed  eye  a  singular  spectacle  when 
the  shadows  of  the  clouds  are  passing  rapidly  over  them.  The 
face  of  the  ground  seems  to  fluctuate  and  toss  like  billows  of 
the  sea. 

17-18.  the  prairie-hawk  .  .  .  yet  moves  not.  The  prairie- 
hawk  sometimes  balances  himself  in  the  air  for  hours  together, 
apparently  over  the  same  spot,  probably  watching  his  prey. 

20.  crisped  :   caused  to  ripple,     limpid  :    clear. 

21.  Sonora  :   a  district  in  the  northwestern  part  of  Mexico. 
31.    constellations.     See  note  on  1.  6,  Hymn  to  the  North  Star. 
38.    sacrilegious  :   impious,  profane. 

45-46.  A  race,  that  long  .  .  .  Built  them.  The  size  and  extent 
of  the  mounds  in  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi  indicate  the  exist- 
ence, at  a  remote  period,  of  a  nation  at  once  populous  and  enter- 
prising within  its  borders. 


PAGES  98-102]      THE  HUNTER  OF  THE  PRAIRIES  219 

48.    Pentelicus  :  a  mountain  near  Athens,  famous  for  its  marble. 

50.  Parthenon :  celebrated  marble  temple  built  at  Athens  in 
honor  of  Athene,  the  patron  goddess  of  that  city.     See  Greek 
History. 

70.  beleaguerers :   besiegers. 

71.  forced  :   captured  by  assault,  stormed. 

80-8 1.  the  rude  conquerors  .  .  .  with  their  chiefs.  Instances 
are  not  wanting  of  generosity  like  this  among  the  Indians  toward  a 
captive  or  survivor  of  a  hostile  tribe. 

94.  gave  back :   reflected. 

95.  Missouri's  springs  :   sources  of  the  Missouri. 

96.  issues  :  the  water  that  flows  out.    Oregon.    See  note  on  1. 53, 
Thanatopsis. 

97.  He  rears  his  little  Venice  :  builds  his  home  in  the  midst  of 
the  water.    Venice,  a  city  in  northeastern  Italy,  is  built  on  piles  in 
the  midst  of  a  great  marsh. 

112.   savannas.     See  note  on  1.  4,  The  Hunter's  Serenade. 

THE   HUNTEK   OF   THE   PRAIRIES.     (PAGE  102) 

9.    savannas.     See  note  on  1.  4,  The.  Hunter's  Serenade. 

23.  brinded :  of  a  gray  or  tawny  color  with  streaks  of  darker 
hue,  brindled,  catamount :  the  cougar.  The  name  is  also  applied 
in  some  parts  of  the  United  States  to  the  lynx  or  wild-cat. 

25.   plane  :  also  known  as  the  sycamore  and  buttonwood. 

27.    cumbered  :  burdened. 

33.  Fire  :  prairie-fire,  sere.  See  note  on  1.  2,  The  Death  of  the 
Flowers. 

39.  I  meet  the  flames  with  flames  again.  Travellers  upon  the 
prairies,  when  about  to  be  overtaken  by  a  prairie-fire,  frequently 
save  themselves  by  setting  fire  to  the  grass  to  the  windward  and 
following  the  flames.  When  the  approaching  fire  reaches  the  space 
that  has  been  burned  over,  it  of  course  dies. 

51.  maze  :  network,  labyrinth. 


220  NOTES  [PAGES  105-106 


SEVENTY-SIX.     (PAGE  105) 

Seventy-six  deals  with  the  influence  exercised  by  the  adoption 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  July  4,  1776. 

5.   yeoman's  iron  hand  :  the  strength  of  the  common  people. 
7.   ocean-mart :  a  seaport. 

26.  Already  had  the  strife  begun.    The  War  of  the  Revolution 
began  in  April,  1775. 

27.  Concord's  plain :  a  few  miles  northwest  of  Boston.     Scene 
of  the  first  battle  of  the  war. 

29.    Lexington :  village  near  Concord.     Scene  of  a  battle  on  the 
same  day  that  the  fight  occurred  at  Concord. 
31.   vernal  sward  :  fresh  spring  turf. 

TO   THE   APENNINES.      (PAGE  106) 

This  poem  was  written  in  Italy  in  1835,  while  the  poet  was  on 
his  first  visit  to  Europe. 

i.  Apennines  :  a  range  of  mountains  extending  almost  the  whole 
length  of  Italy. 

5.  Peruvian :  of  Peru,  a  country  in  the  western  part  of  South 
America. 

6.  virgin.     See  note  on  1.  8,  The  Yellow  Violet. 

7.  aerial :  reaching  far  into  the  air,  lofty. 
14.   Etrurian.     See  note  on  1.  183,  The  Ages. 
20.   hind :  female  of  the  red  deer. 

25.  Asian  horde  :  the  Huns,  who  in  375  A.D.  swept  into  Europe 
from  Asia,  defeated  the  Goths,  and  later,  under  the  leadership  of 
Attila,  overran  the  greater  part  of  Europe,  including  Italy.     They 
subdued  the  Romans  and  compelled  them  to  pay  tribute. 

26.  Libyan :  of  Libya.     Libya  was  the  ancient  Greek  name  of 
that  part  of  northern  Africa  which  lies  between  Egypt  and  the 
Atlantic.     Carthage,  whose  forces  under  Hannibal  invaded  Italy, 


PAGES  106-110]  CATTERSKILL    FALLS  221 

and  almost  conquered  the  Romans,  was  situated  in  that  region. 
Scythian  :  a  member  of  an  ancient  nomadic  race  which  lived  on 
the  plains  north  and  northeast  of  the  Black  Sea.  Gaul :  an  inhab- 
itant of  ancient  Gaul,  a  country  that  was  made  up  of  what  is  now 
France,  Belgium,  northern  Italy,  and  parts  of  Switzerland,  Ger- 
many, and  Holland.  The  Gauls  and  the  Romans  fought  many 
bloody  wars. 

31.  beleaguering  :  besieging. 

34.  the  curse  of  Cain  :  the  infamy  ascribed  to  murderers.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Bible,  Cain  was  the  first  murderer  in  the  history  of 
the  human  race.  See  Gen.  iv.  8-11. 

39-  Jove.  See  note  on  1.  18,  The  Conjunction  of  Jupiter  and 
Venus.  Bacchus :  the  Roman  god  of  wine.  He  was  known  as 
Dionysus  by  the  Greeks.  Pan :  the  Greek  god  of  pastures,  forests, 
and  flocks.  Called  Inuus  by  the  Romans. 

41.   middle.     See  note  on  1.  30,  Monument  Mountain. 

CATTERSKILL   FALLS.     (PAGE  110) 

Catterskill  Falls  are  in  the  midst  of  the  Catskill  Mountains, 
southeastern  New  York.  The  name  is  now  written  Kaaterskill 
Falls. 

25.    mien  :  appearance. 

32.  linden :  the  lime-tree.    The  American  species  is  commonly 
called  the  basswood. 

37.    crescent :  a  term  applied  to  the  moon  while  on  the  increase 
during  the  first  quarter. 
46.    pensive  :  thoughtful  and  somewhat  melancholy. 

74.  quaint :  odd. 

75.  mail :  armor  composed  of  rings  of  metal. 
78.   carbine  :  a  short  rifle. 

87.    phantom:  ghostly. 

95.   phantoms.     See  note  on  1.  64,  Thanatopsis. 

1 14.    stagnant :  without  current  or  motion. 


222  NOTES  [PAGES  115-118 


THE   BATTLE-FIELD.     (PAGE  115) 

4.  battle-cloud :  the  cloud  of  smoke  produced  by  the  discharge 
of  guns. 

12.   kine:  cows. 

14.   wain  :  wagon  used  to  carry  provisions,  etc. 

25.  proof:  trial,  test. 

28.  sage.     See  note  on  1.  3,  Ode  for  an  Agricultural  Celebration. 

SELLA.     (PAGE  118) 

5-41.  Note  the  many  references  in  these  lines  to  Bella's  love  for 
the  water. 

12.  A  sweet  eternal  murmur.  Wordsworth  in  his  Tintern 
Abbey  uses  the  expression,  u  With  a  soft  inland  murmur."  Which 
is  the  more  musical  ? 

22.  passionless.     What  conception  does  this  word  give  us  of 
Sella  ?    graved  :  carved. 

23.  niches  :  cavities  or  hollow  places  in  a  wall,  in  which  to  place 
statues,  vases,  etc. 

29.  wells :  pools. 

31-32.  And,  deep  beyond  .  .  .  blue  space.  Note  how  prettily 
the  poet  has  described  the  reflection  of  the  clouds  in  the  water. 

35.   with  a  stripe  of  green :  with  grass  along  its  borders. 

38.    sylvan  lakelet :  small  lake  surrounded  with  woods. 

40.  shallop  :  boat.  The  word  is  a  general  one,  including  boats 
of  all  sizes  from  a  canoe  to  a  yacht. 

62.  quarry:  an  example  of  metonymy,  i.e.  the  container  is  used 
in  place  of  the  thing  contained. 

72.  Magical  footgear  is  common  in  mythological  literature, 
e.g.  Hiawatha's  enchanted  moccasins,  Mercury's  winged  sandals, 
Cinderella's  glass  slippers. 

82.  I  cannot  see  thy  name.     Note  how  Sella's  fairylike  nature 


PAGE  118]  SELLA  223 

is  brought  out  by  having  that  of  her  unimaginative  mother  placed 
in  contrast. 

88.    contexture :  the  manner  in  which  the  slippers  were  made. 

96.    sounding :  an  especially  effective  word. 

122-123.  Tripped  one  as  beautiful  ...  in  a  dream.  Mark  the 
vagueness  of  the  description  given  of  the  river-nymph.  Why  is  it 
not  made  more  definite  ? 

136-216.  Compare  the  description  given  in  these  lines  of  the 
wonders  of  the  ocean  with  the  one  in  chapters  16-16,  Verne's 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  under  the  Sea. 

142.   mazy  screen :  network  of  foliage. 

144.  coralline:   a  submarine   plant  consisting  of  many  jointed 
branches. 

145.  dulse :  a  seaweed  of  a  reddish  brown  color. 

146.  sea-thong :  a  kind  of  blackish  seaweed  found  on  the  north- 
ern coasts  of  the  Atlantic,     sea-lace :  also  a  blackish  seaweed. 

147.  fronds:  foliage. 

159-160.  Sella,  dear  .  .  .  vainest  dream :  Sella's  mother  again 
brought  in  in  contrast.  See  note  on  1.  82  above. 

163.  distaff :  the  staff  for  holding  the  wool  or  flax  from  which 
the  thread  is  drawn  in  spinning  by  hand. 

173.  sea-nymphs :  imaginary  deities,  who,  according  to  the  early 
Greeks,  lived  in  all  parts  of  the  sea. 

174.  abyss.     See  note  on  1.  25,  The  Past. 

175.  plummet:  the  lead  attached  to  a  sounding  line. 

177.  pulses  of  the  tide :  the  rising  and  falling  movements  of  the 
tide  in  its  ebb  and  flow. 

187.  Culled:  selected. 

188.  Midrib  :  the  middle  rib  or  nerve  of  a  leaf. 

199.  Pinnacles.     See  note  on  1.  27,  Monument  Mountain. 

200.  Molten  by  inner  fires :  reduced  to  a  liquid  state  by  heat  in 
the  interior  of  the  earth. 

205.   abyss.     See  note  on  1.  25,  The  Past. 


224  NOTES  [PAGES  118-136 

213.  azure.     See  note  on  1.  9,  The  Gladness  of  Nature. 

224-225.  I  must  see  ...  or  I  shall  die.  Such  touches  as  this 
keep  us  from  losing  sight  of  the  fact  that  Sella  is  a  human  being. 

245.  till  I  thought  of  thee  again.  See  note  on  11.  224-225 
above. 

271.  Waned:  diminished. 

272.  patriarch's  board.    Patriarch,  as  used  here,  means  a  vener- 
able old  man.   For  another  use  of  the  word,  see  1.  34,  Thanatopsis. 

291-294.  And  now  the  younger  sister  .  .  .  named  the  wedding- 
day.  Note  the  introduction  of  the  younger  sister,  possessed  of  all 
the  characteristics  common  to  an  ordinary  being.  She  serves  the 
same  purpose  as  the  mother.  See  note  on  1.  82  above. 

301.  canisters:  small  baskets  made  of  reeds,  rushes,  or  willow 
twigs. 

310.   spousal  rite  :  marriage  ceremony. 

320-326.  There  she  stood  .  .  .  soon  to  pass  away :  the  turning 
point  in  the  story.  Sella  seems  about  to  be  lost  to  us  as  a  human 
being  when  she  is  suddenly  separated  from  her  fairy  land  by  an 
act  of  her  brothers. 

343.   alabaster:  white. 

353.   quaint  old  measures :  strange  old  tunes. 

424.    demeanor:  behavior. 

430.   middle.     See  note  on  1.  30,  Monument  Mountain. 

489-491.  From  afar  .  .  .  pillared  arches:  bade  them  build 
aqueducts. 

515.   pastoral :  rural,  of  the  country. 

THE   DEATH  OF   SCHILLER.     (PAGE  136) 

Schiller,  the  great  national  poet  of  Germany  (1759-1805),  was 
noted  for  his  deep  and  earnest  sympathy  with  all  mankind. 

Give  careful  attention  to  the  epithets  used  in  describing  the  dif- 
ferent peoples  spoken  of  in  the  poem. 


PAGES  136-139]  THE  FOUNTAIN  225 

8.  Hindoo:  native  inhabitant  of  Hindostan  (British  India). 

9.  Pawnee :    Indian  belonging  to  Pawnee  tribe,  whose  former 
home  was  along  the  Platte  River,  but  now  in  Indian  Territory, 
stark:  strong,  vigorous. 

10.  sallow:  having  a  yellow  color.     Tartar:  name  applied  to 
members  of  various  Mongolian  races  in  Asia  and  Europe. 

12.  Malay:  one  of  a  race  of  a  brown  or  copper  complexion  in 
the  Malay  Peninsula  (southeastern  Asia),  and  the  western  islands 
of  the  Indian  Archipelago. 

THE   FUTURE   LIFE.     (PAGE  137) 

This  poem,  written  in  1839,  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Bryant. 
2.   disembodied :  divested  of  the  body. 

25.  sordid:  dull. 

THE  FOUNTAIN.     (PAGE  139) 

In  connection  with  the  study  of  this  poem  read  Whittier  and 
Lowell's  poems  by  the  same  title. 
1 6.   viburnum  :  a  flowering  shrub. 
19.    chipping-sparrow  :  commonly  called  chippy. 
23.    plane.     See  note  on  1.  25,  The  Hunter  of  the  Prairies. 

26.  tulip-tree  :  a  large  tree,  found  in  America,  bearing  tuliplike 
flowers.     Sometimes  called  whitewood. 

31.  liver-leaf :  same  as  liverwort.  Belongs  to  a  natural  order 
of  plants  of  which  the  buttercup  is  the  type.  Its  flowers  are  bluish 
white. 

34.  sanguinaria :  the  blood-root.  It  bears  a  delicate  white 
flower  of  a  musky  scent,  the  stem  of  which  breaks  easily,  and  dis- 
tils a  juice  of  a  bright  red  color. 

47-57.   Hark,   that  quick  fierce  cry  .  .  .    Mangled  by    toma- 
hawks.    Note  the  rapidity  of  movement  in  this  description. 
Q 


226  NOTES  [PAGES  139-150 

71.  fells :  skins  with  the  hair  on,  pelts. 

107.  quaintly:  gracefully,  neatly. 

108.  linden-leaf.     See  note  on  1.  32,  Catterskill  Falls. 

THE   OLD   MAN'S   COUNSEL.     (PAGE  144) 

6.  vernal  :  spring. 

7.  tilth.     See  note  on  1.  17,  Monument  Mountain. 

13.  Pithy:  forceful,  full  of  energy. 

14.  optimist :  one  who  looks  on   the  bright  side  of  things,  — 
opposed  to  pessimist. 

19.    middle.     See  note  on  1.  30,  Monument  Mountain. 

28.  shadbush:  a  name  given  to  a  flowering  shrub  because  its 
blossoms  appear  at  about  the  time  the  shad  ascend  the  rivers  to 
spawn. 

32.    pulses  :  rise  and  fall.     See  note  on  1.  177,  Sella. 

36.   ancient :  aged  man. 

72.  devoted  :  doomed. 

88.   venerable.     See  note  on  1.  40,  Thanatopsis. 

AN   EVENING  REVERT.     (PAGE  147) 
2.   office:  duty. 
6.  plaited  tissues :  leaf-buds. 
12.   painted:  marked  with  bright  colors. 

1 6.  alcoves :  small  rooms  commonly  used  for  sleeping  rooms. 
1 8.    noisome  cells  :  unhealthful  rooms. 

58.  while  I  am  glorying  in  my  strength.     An  Evening  Eevery 
was  written  in  1840  when  the  poet  was  forty-five  years  of  age. 

59.  Impend  around:    threaten  from  near  at  hand,      bourne: 
boundary. 

THE  ANTIQUITY  OF  FREEDOM.     (PAGE  150) 

17.  gyves  :  fetters,  chains. 

18.  Armed  to  the  teeth:  very  fully  or  completely  armed. 


PAGES  150-152]  A  HYMN  OF  THE  SEA  227 

26.   swart:  swarthy,  black. 
42.    deluge  :  the  great  flood  in  the  time  of  Noah. 
54.   Quaint  maskers :    subtle  individuals  whose  real  characters 
are  kept  hidden,    mien.     See  note  on  1.  25,  Catterskill  Falls. 

59.  chaplets  :  garlands,  wreaths. 

60.  unbrace  thy  corslet :  loosen  or  take  off  thy  armor.     It  was 
the  custom  among  thelmights  of  feudal  times  to  put  off  the  heavier 
parts  of  their  armor  when  not  engaged  in  combat.    See  the  descrip- 
tion given  of  Brian  de  Bois  Guilbert,  Chapter  II.,  Scott's  Ivanhoe. 

A   HYMN  OF  THE   SEA.     (PAGE  152) 

10.   warping  :  flying  with  a  bending  or  waving  motion. 

19.   stemming  :  steering. 

24-39.  But  who  shall  bide  thy  tempest  .  .  .  upon  the  rocks. 
In  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  Byron  describes  the  destruction  of 
a  fleet  by  a  storm  at  sea  in  this  way  :  — 

"  The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war; 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar.'* 

29.  thoughtless  :  free  from  care. 

35.  engines  :  cannon,  guns. 

36.  whelmed.     See  note  on  1.  113,  Hymn  to  Death. 
42.  Welters :  wallows. 

45.  middle.     See  note  on  1.  30,  Monument  Mountain. 

46.  line  :  sounding  line. 
59.   living  :  in  motion. 


228  NOTES  [PAGES  164-171 


THE   PLANTING   OF  THE   APPLE-TREE.     (PAGE  164) 

13.  thrush :  robin. 

15.   lea  :  meadow,  grassy  field. 

43.  Cintra's  vine.  Cintra  is  a  city  in  the  western  part  of  Portu- 
gal which  is  noted  for  its  wines. 

51.    sojourners :  travellers. 

73.  Bryant  wrote  to  a  friend,  Dr.  Orville  Dewey,  in  November, 
1846  :  "  I  have  been,  and  am,  at  my  place  on  Long  Island,  planting 
and  transplanting  trees,  in  the  mist,  sixty  or  seventy  ;  some  for 
shade,  most  for  fruit.  Hereafter,  men,  whose  existence  is  at  pres- 
ent merely  possible,  will  gather  pears  from  the  trees  which  I  have 
set  in  the  ground,  and  wonder  what  old  covey  of  past  ages  planted 
them." 

THE   SNOW  SHOWER.     (PAGE  169) 

In  connection  with  the  study  of  this  poem  read  Lowell's  The 
First  Snow-fall  and  Emerson's  The  Snow  Storm. 

12.   prone :  headlong. 

17.  snow-stars.  The  star  shape  of  the  snow-crystal  makes  this 
expression  an  especially  apt  one. 

20.  milky  way :    the  luminous  belt  which  is  seen  stretching 
across  the  sky  at  night. 

21.  burlier:  more  bulky. 

37.   middle.    See  note  on  1.  30,  Monument  Mountain. 


ROBERT   OF   LINCOLN.     (PAGE  171) 

Robert  of  Lincoln  or  Boblincoln  is  one  of  the  names  given  th 
bird  commonly  known  as  the  bobolink.     It  is  also  called  the  rice 
bird  and  the  reedbird.     In  connection  with  Bryant's  characteriza- 
tion of  it,  read  Lowell's  The  Bobolink. 


PAGES  171-175]       THE  SONG   OF  THE  SOWER  229 

ii-i2.  Wearing  a  bright  black  .  .  .  white  his  crest.     The  male 
bird  is  black  and  white. 

19.  Quaker  wife  :  so  termed  because  of  her  quiet  life  and  modest 
color. 

20.  with  plain  brown  wings.     The  female  bird  is  brown. 
66.   humdrum  crone  :  dull  fellow. 


THE   SONG  OF  THE   SOWER.     (PAGE  175) 

4.   teeming  :  productive. 

28.  wain.     See  note  on  1.  14,  The  Battle-field. 

29.  grange :  farmhouse. 

35.    lea.     See  note  on  1.  15,  The  Planting  of  the  Apple-tree. 

41.  Solferino's  day  :  a  reference  to  the  battle  fought  at  Sol- 
ferino,  a  village  in  northern  Italy,  on  June  24,  1859,  between  the 
Austrians  on  the  one  side  and  the  French  and  Sardinians  on  the 
other.  Three  hundred  thousand  men  took  part  in  the  struggle  of 
whom  thirty-five  thousand  were  slain.  The  Austrians  were  de- 
feated. 

43.  Mincio's  brink.  The  battle  of  Solferino  was  fought  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mincio  River,  a  small  stream  in  northern  Italy.  See 
note  on  1.  41  above. 

56.   rue  :  regret. 

67.    matted :  tangled. 

77.  roof -trees  :  houses.     An  example  of  synecdoche,  i.e.  putting 
a  part  for  the  whole.     The  real  meaning  of  the  word  roof-tree  is  a 
beam  in  the  angle  of  a  roof. 

78.  mere  :  lake. 
116.   dower :  gift. 

126.  alleys  :  narrow  streets  designed  for  the  habitation  of  the 
poorer  classes. 

128.   roof -chambers  :  rooms  in  an  attic. 

143.    tilth.     See  note  on  1.  17,  Monument  Mountain. 


230  NOTES  [PAGES  175-187 

145.  consecrated   bread :   bread  reserved  for  use  at  the  Lord's 
Supper. 

146.  mystic  :  emblematical.    The  bread  used  at  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per is  emblematical  of  the  body  of  the  Christ.     See  Matt.  xxvi.  26. 

173.    genial :  enlivening,  quickening. 
1 86.   spikes  :  ears  of  corn  or  grain. 
193.   marts  :  markets. 

NOT  YET.     (PAGE  182) 

This  poem  was  written  in  July,  1861,  a  few  days  after  the  first 
battle  of  Bull  Run.  It  was  addressed  to  the  nations  of  Europe  that 
were  anxiously  desiring  the  overthrow  of  our  government. 

32.   Eld's  dim  twilight :  oblivion  of  the  past. 

34.   pit :  abyss,  grave. 

OUR  COUNTRY'S   CALL.     (PAGE  184) 

This  poem  is  a  companion  piece  of  Not  Yet.     It  was  written  in 
September,  1861,  and  was  addressed  to  the  men  of  the  North. 
7.    crooked  brand  :  sabre,  cavalry  sword. 
13.   coverts  :  places  of  concealment. 
38.   bourne  :  boundary. 
44.   marge.     See  note  on  1.  10,  To  a  Waterfowl. 

THE   LITTLE   PEOPLE   OF  THE   SNOW.     (PAGE  187) 

The  Little  People  of  the  Snow  is  marked  by  an  ideal  fancy  which 
is  rarely  found  in  Bryant's  poems.  It  is  distinctly  a  fairy  tale, 
and  hence  may  be  regarded  as  a  companion  piece  of  Sella. 

i.  old  world  stories  :  stories  dating  back  many  ages,  or  stories 
of  the  eastern  hemisphere. 

6.  Goody  Cutpurse  :  commonly  written  Moll  Cutpurse.  A  name 
given  to  Mary  Frith,  a  notorious  woman  robber  who  lived  in 
Shakespeare's  time. 


PAGE  187]       THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SNOW  231 

10.  elves :    imaginary  beings  with   diminutive   human  forms, 
supposed  to  inhabit  unfrequented  places  and  to  interfere  in  human 
affairs. 

11.  gnomes  :    also   imaginary  beings  with  diminutive  human 
forms,  but  very  ugly  and  misshapen.   Supposed  to  be  the  guardians 
of  mines  and  miners. 

12.  water-fairies  :  sea-nymphs.     See  note  on  1.  173,  Sella. 

1 6-1 8.  'Twas  in  the  olden  time  .  .  .  yet  an  acorn  :  the  time 
of  the  story  suggested. 

23-31.  but  when  winter  came  .  .  .  toward  the  vale.  Compare 
these  lines  with  11.  181-210  (11.  8-37,  Prelude  to  Part  Second), 
Lowell's  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 

30.  trotted.     Is  this  an  appropriate  epithet  ? 

34-38.  for  then  the  Alps,  .  .  .  Alleghany's  streams.  Another 
suggestion  as  to  the  time  of  the  story.  See  note  on  11.  16-18  above. 

39-41.  Upon  the  slopes  .  .  .  Armenian  vales.  The  geographi- 
cal setting  of  the  story  brought  out. 

39.  Caucasus :  a  range  of  mountains  between  the  Black  and 
Caspian  seas.    Mt.  Elbrooz,  the  loftiest  peak,  is  18,526  feet  high. 

40.  Ararat :  a  mountain,  17,260  feet  high,  in  the  eastern  part  of 
Armenia  and  about  two   hundred  miles  south   of  the   Caucasus 
range.     Tradition  has  it  that  the  first  home  of  the  human  race  was 
somewhere  near  its  base. 

50.  bid :  bidden.  Either  form  is  correct,  but  the  latter  has  the 
preference. 

61.  parapets  :  defences.  Ice,  when  forming  along  the  edges  of 
running  water,  has  a  tendency  to  crumple.  This  is  probably  what 
the  poet  had  in  mind. 

87-88.  And  moulding  .  .  .  flowers  below.  The  frost,  of  course, 
is  meant. 

101.   Linden.    See  note  on  1.  108,  The  Fountain. 

107-110.  She  saw  a  little  creature  .  .  .  than  her  cheek.  Note 
the  descriptive  words  used.  Why  are  they  effective? 


232  NOTES  [PAGE  187 

120.    griffins  :  fabulous  monsters,  half  lion  and  half  eagle. 
146.    snow-stars.     See  note  on  1.  17,  The  Snow-shoiver. 
153.    Florentine  :  Michael  Angelo  (1475-1564),  the  great  painter, 
sculptor,  and  architect. 

155.  fane.     See  note  on  1.  60,  Hymn  to  Death. 

156.  Burgos  :  a  city  in  the  north-central  part  of  Spain,  known 
chiefly  for  its  magnificent  cathedral.     The  building  was  begun  in 
1221  and  finished  in  1567.    The  architect's  name  is  unknown. 

163.    columnar :  having  the  form  of  a  column. 

165.  Lebanon:  a  province  in  Asiatic  Turkey  bordering  on  the 
east  shore  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  It  is  noted  for  its  cedars. 

171.  alabaster:  a  variety  of  limestone,  usually  white  in  color, 
much  used  for  ornamental  purposes.  For  another  use  of  the  word, 
see  1.  343,  Sella. 

1 80.  cold:  an  u.nusual  word  to  use  with  flames.  Is  it  appro- 
priate ? 

188.   colonnade  :  a  series  or  row  of  pillars. 

194.   pellucid:  transparent,  clear. 

200-203.  as  if  the  aerial  hosts  .  .  .  grace  a  festival.  The  beauty 
and  appropriateness  of  this  simile  make  it  deserving  of  careful 
consideration. 

214.   meandering  :  consisting  of  intricate  windings  and  turnings. 

274.  East :  the  east  wind.  According  to  classic  mythology  the 
east  wind  was  the  same  as,  or  closely  akin  to,  the  morning  wind 
and  was  invariably  associated  with  storms. 

296.   pastoral.     See  note  on  L  515,  Sella. 

338.    communion.    See  note  on  1.  2,  Thanatopsis. 

346.   silvery  rime :  hoar-frost. 


INDEX   TO   NOTES 


abyss,  205-216. 

ADAMS,  214. 

aerial,  220. 

affect,  211. 

A  Forest  Hymn,  212. 

A  Hymn  of  the  Sea,  227. 

alabaster,  224. 

albeit,  206. 

alcoves,  226. 

alleys,  229. 

alone,  216. 

Already  had  the  strife  begun,  220. 

A    Meditation    on    Rhode    Island 

Coal,  214. 
ancient,  209-226. 
ANDALUSIA,  211. 
And,  deep  beyond,  etc.,  222. 
And  moulding,  etc.,  231. 
And  now  the  younger  sister,  etc., 

224. 

And  then  I  think  of  one,  213. 
An  Evening  Re  very,  226. 
annihilated,  213. 
APENNINES,  220. 
A  race  that  long,  etc.,  218. 
ARARAT,  231. 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  226. 
Arno's  classic  side,  208. 
As  darkly  seen,  etc.,  205. 
Asian  horde,  220. 
Asian  monarch's  chain,  209. 
as  if  the  aerial  hosts,  etc.,  232. 


233 


As  if  the  ocean,  etc.,  218. 

aspen  bower,  214. 

A  Summer  Ramble,  215. 

A  sweet  eternal  murmur,  222. 

At  last  the  earthquake,  etc.,  209. 

A  Winter  Piece,  205. 

azure,  214. 

BACCHUS,  221. 

Barcaii  wilderness,  203. 

bard,  218. 

bards,  212. 

battle-cloud,  222. 

bays,  217. 

beautiful  river,  211. 

beetling,  210. 

beleaguerers,  219. 

beleaguering,  221. 

bid,  231. 

bier,  206. 

Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn,  206 

Blue,  blue  as  if,  etc.,  217. 

bourne,  230. 

brazen,  210. 

brinded,  219. 

BURGOS,  232. 

burlier,  228. 

but  when  winter,  etc.,  231. 

calumnies,  207. 
canisters.  224. 
capitals,  210. 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


carbine,  221. 
catamount,  219. 
Catter 'skill  Falls,  221. 
CAUCASUS,  231. 
causey,  204. 
century-living,  212. 
cerulean,  217. 
chapeau  bras,  214. 
chaplets,  227. 
chipping-sparrow,  225. 
Cintra's  vine,  228. 
cold,  232. 
columnar,  232. 
communion,  203. 
Concord's  plain,  220. 
consecrated  bread,  230. 
consorts,  210. 
constellations,  212. 
continuous,  203. 
contexture,  223. 
coralline,  223. 
coverts,  230. 
crescent,  221. 
crisped,  218. 
crooked  brand,  230. 
culled,  223. 
cumbered,  219. 

declines,  210. 
deem,  206. 
deluge,  227. 
demeanor,  224. 
desultory,  208. 
devoted,  226. 
diadem,  209. 
disembodied,  225. 
disembowered,  209. 
distaff,  223. 
dog-star,  215. 
dole,  209. 


dower,  229. 
dulse,  223. 
duly,  209. 

East,  232. 

Eld's  dim  twilight,  230. 

elves,  231. 

emanation,  213. 

engines,  227. 

Ere  russet  fields,  etc.,  202. 

ETRURIAN,  208. 

extortioner's  hand,  207. 

fanes,  207. 

fells,  226. 

felon's  latest  breath,  207. 

fire,  219. 

fixed,  204. 

FLORENTINE,  232. 

flower,  211. 

forced,  219. 

For  he  is  in  his  grave,  207. 

for  them  the  Alps,  231. 

For  thou  to  northern  lands,  etc. 

210. 

From  afar,  etc.,  224. 
fronds,  223. 

gave  back,  219. 

genial,  230. 

glade,  213. 

glen,  213. 

gnomes,  213. 

GOODY  CUTPURSE,  230. 

grange,  229. 

graved,  222. 

green  pupilage,  207. 

en  River,  205. 
griflins,  232. 


INDEX    TO  NOTES 


235 


hang-bird,  214. 

hapless,  211. 

Hapless  Greece,  215. 

Happy  they,  etc.,  215. 

Hark,  that  quick,  etc.,  225. 

HAVRE,  214. 

her,  216. 

He  rears  his  little  Venice,  219. 

hie,  205. 

him,  216. 

hind,  220. 

HINDOO,  225. 

humdrum  crone,  229. 

Hymn  to  Death,  206. 

I  behold  them,  etc.,  218. 

I  Broke  the  Spell  that  Held  me 

long,  210. 

I  cannot  see,  etc.,  222. 
illimitable,  205. 
image,  203. 

I  meet  the  flames,  etc.,  219. 
impend  around,  226. 
I  must  see,  etc.,  224. 
inexorable,  216. 
innumerable  caravan,  203. 
Inscription  for  the  Entrance  to  a 

Wood,  204. 
insatiate,  215. 
interminable,  209. 
interposing,  206. 
Is  it  that,  etc.,  210. 
issues,  219. 

JOVE,  221. 
June,  213. 

kindling  air,  212. 
kine,  222. 


LALLA  ROOKH,  214. 

last  steps  of  day,  205. 

laurels,  209. 

lea,  228. 

LEBANON,  232. 

LEXINGTON,  220. 

LIBYAN,  220. 

Like  worshippers,  etc.,  211. 

linden,  221. 

line,  227. 

lithe,  207. 

liver-leaf,  225. 

living,  227. 

lore,  210. 

lute,  211. 

lymph,  206. 

mail,  221. 

MALAY,  225. 

March,  210. 

marge,  205. 

marts,  230. 

matted,  229. 

maze,  219. 

mazy  screen,  223. 

meandering,  232. 

melancholy,  203. 

mere,  229. 

meteor,  212. 

middle,  210. 

midrib,  223. 

mien,  221. 

milky  way,  228. 

mimic  canvas,  208. 

Mincio's  brink,  229. 

MISSOLONGHI,  215. 

Missouri's  springs,  215. 

Mitre's  kind  control,  209. 

Moab's  rocks,  206. 

Molten  by  inner  fires,  223. 


236 


INDEX   TO  NOTES 


Monument  Mountain,  210. 
mystic,  230. 

narrow  house,  203. 

niches,  222. 

NIMROD,  206. 

noisome  cells,  226. 

No  Man  knoweth  his  Sepulchre, 

206. 

not  a  prince,  etc.,  213. 
Not  Yet,  230. 

obloquy,  203. 

ocean-mart,  220. 

Ode  for  an  Agricultural  Celebra- 
tion, 209. 

O'er  Greece  long  fettered,  211. 

office,  226. 

Oh  Fairest  of  the  Rural  Maids, 
213. 

Oh,  Greece,  etc.,  208. 

old  world  stories,  230. 

optimist,  226. 

OREGON,  203. 

orgies,  208. 

OTHMAN,  211. 

Our  Country's  Call,  230. 

painted,  226. 
palm,  208. 
PAN,  221. 
papaya,  216. 
parapets,  231. 
PARTHENON,  219. 
passing,  210. 
passionless,  222. 
pastoral,  224. 
patriarchs,  203. 
patriarch's  board,  224. 
pattered,  208. 


Pawnee,  225. 

pellucid,  232. 

pensive,  221. 

PENTELICUS,  219. 

PERUVIAN,  220. 

phantom,  203-221. 

pinnacles,  210. 

pit,  230. 

Pithy,  226. 

plaited  tissues,  226. 

plane,  219. 

plane  tree's  speckled  arms,  205. 

plashy,  205. 

plummet,  223. 

potent  fervors,  210. 

primal  curse,  204. 

prodigal,  208. 

prone,  228. 

proof,  222. 

pulses,  226. 

pulses  of  the  tide,  223. 

quaint,  221. 
quaintly,  226. 
Quaint  maskers,  227. 
quaint  old  measures,  224. 
Quaker  wife,  229. 
quarry,  222. 

reverend,  211. 

reverent,  208. 

ripe,  207. 

river  cherry,  205. 

Robert  of  Lincoln,  228. 

roof-trees,  229. 

rue,  229. 

"ruler    of    the    inverted   year,5 

214. 
russet,  204. 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


237 


sabbath,  215. 

sacrilegious,  218. 

sad  images,  203. 

sages,  209. 

sallow,  225. 

sanguinaria,  225. 

SANTEE,  218. 

savanna's  side,  216^ 

scimitar,  211. 

sea-nymphs,  223. 

sea-thong,  223. 

seers,  203. 

Sella,  222. 

Sella,  dear,  etc.,  223. 

sere,  213. 

Sesostris,  207. 

Seventy-Six,  220. 

shadbush,  226. 

shaft,  212. 

shallop,  222. 

shapes,  212. 

share,  203. 

she  pours  forth,  etc.,  214. 

She  saw  a  little  creature,  231. 

silvery  rime,  232. 

simpler,  205. 

simples,  205. 

sluices,  206. 

smoky,  213. 

snow-stars,  228. 

sojourners,  228. 

Solferino's  day,  229. 

Song  of  the  Greek  Amazon,  211. 

Song  of  Marion's  Men,  217. 

SONORA,  218. 

sordid,  225. 

sounding,  223. 

spikes,  230. 

spinning-jenny,  214. 

spousal  rite,  224. 


stagnant,  221. 
stemming,  227. 
stern  agony,  203. 
stole,  208. 

Summer  Wind,  210. 
summons  comes,  203. 
Suspended  in  the  mimic  sky,  215. 
swain,  203. 
sylvan  lakelet,  222. 

TARTAR,  225. 

tawny,  209. 

teeming,  229. 

tenor,  206. 

Thanatopsis,  201. 

that  in  flowery  June,  213. 

The  Ages,  208. 

The  Antiquity  of  Freedom,  226. 

The  Battle-Field,  222. 

The  British  soldier,  etc.,  217. 

TJie  Conjunction  of  Jupiter  and 

Venus,  212. 

the  curse  of  Cain,  221. 
The  Death  of  Schiller,  224. 
The  Death  of  the  Flowers,  213. 
The  Fountain,  225. 
The  Future  Life,  225. 
The  Gladness  of  Nature,  214. 
The  Hunter  of  the  Prairies,  219. 
The  Hunter's  Serenade,  216. 
the  imperial  star  of  Jove,  214. 
The  Little  People  of  the  Snow,  230. 
The  Old  Man's  Counsel,  226. 
The  Past,  216. 
The  Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree, 

228. 

the  prairie-hawk,  etc.,  218. 
The  Prairies,  218. 
The  Rivulet,  209. 
the  rude  conquerors,  etc.,  219. 


238 


INDEX   TO  NOTES 


The  Snow  Shower,  228. 

The  solitary  mound,  etc.,  217. 

The  Song  of  the  Sower,  229. 

The  surface  rolls,  etc.,  218. 

The  Twenty-Second  of  December, 

217. 

The  Yellow  Violet,  203. 
The  youth,  etc.,  207. 
There  she  stood,  etc.,  224. 
These  dim  vaults,  etc.,  212. 
Those  ages  have,  etc.,  208. 
Though  forced  to  drudge,  205. 
thoughtless,  227. 
Thou  hast,  etc.,  216. 
thrush,  228. 

till  I  thought,  etc.,  224. 
tilth,  210. 
TIVERTON,  214. 
To  a  Cloud,  221. 
To  a  Waterfowl,  204. 
To  the  Apennines,  220. 
To  the  Fringed  Gentian,  217. 
tripped  one  as  beautiful,  etc.,  223. 
tripping,  204. 
trotted,  231. 
True  it  is,  etc.,  206. 
tulip  tree,  225. 
Twas  in  the  olden  time,  231. 

unbrace  thy  corslet,  227. 

undulations,  218. 

unmeet,  213. 

untimely,  207. 

Unwind  the  eternal  dances,  etc., 

208. 

up,  217. 
upland,  213. 


Upon  the  slopes,  etc.,  231. 
Upon    the    tyrant's    throne,   etc., 
213. 

various,  203. 
venerable,  202. 
vernal,  226. 
vernal  hymn,  209. 
vernal  sward,  220. 
viburnum,  225. 
virgin,  204-211. 
virgin  orb,  212. 
void,  215. 
voluble,  210. 

wain,  222. 

Waned,  224. 

wantonness,  204. 

warping,  227. 

water  fairies,  231. 

Wearing  a  bright,  etc.,  229. 

wells,  222. 

Welters,  227. 

whelmed,  207. 

while  I  am  glorying,  etc.,  226. 

wildered,  206. 

wilding  bee,  214. 

William  Tell,  216. 

wind-flower,  206. 

witchery,  210. 

with  a  stripe,  etc.,  222. 

with  plain  brown  wings,  229. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery,  217. 

yeoman's  iron  hand,  220. 
Yet  slight  thy  form,  204. 
yon  bright  blue  bay,  209. 


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